<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>3 Nights by sraye96</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22976104">3 Nights</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sraye96/pseuds/sraye96'>sraye96</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Affairs, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Everybody Lives, Fix-It, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Panic Attacks, Phone Sex, Rimming, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Unhappy marriage, its ass eating season</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:41:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>31,568</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22976104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sraye96/pseuds/sraye96</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eddie Kaspbrak was alive against all odds. He was a wealthy business owner in New York City. Derry was nothing more than a bad nightmare at this point, all the monsters left in the past. He remembered his childhood, which, hey, that shit sucked, but it also meant he remembered the Losers Club and somehow that seemed like an even enough trade off for him. He was married to a woman who handled the aspects of his job he didn’t want to and cared for his every need. He had mind blowing sex fairly regularly. He had everything going for him when he looked at the facts on paper.</p>
<p>Three nights. He could do it for three more nights. That’s all he needed. Then his world would make sense again. He could do it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Myra Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 3 More Days</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I heard a song at three in the morning and then left it one repeat and wrote to it for four hours one weekend back in like.... October? November? And I thought it was going to be a quick piece, but it ballooned into something pretty massive and a bit different from what I usualy write. That song was Three Nights by Dominic Fike, which is why this entire fic is named after it. I have a short playlist for this fic that I'll drop with the next chapter, but I hope you guys like it! This has been my baby for quite a while now.</p>
<p>I'll be updating tags as we go - six of the seven chapters of this have already been written and the seventh is mostly done as well, so I know where I'm going but I was kinda hoping to keep the mystery for a while. :P</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Eddie Kaspbrak was alive against all odds. He was a wealthy business owner in New York City. Derry was nothing more than a bad nightmare at this point, all the monsters left in the past. He remembered his childhood, which, hey, that shit sucked, but it also meant he remembered the Losers Club and somehow that seemed like an even enough trade off for him. He was married to a woman who handled the aspects of his job he didn’t want to and cared for his every need. He had mind blowing sex fairly regularly. He had everything going for him when he looked at the facts on paper.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After defeating It once and for all, the lives of the members of the Losers Club seemed to get infinitely better. While they had to live with their trauma and scars the second time around, they also got to live knowing It was gone and never coming back again. It was easier to enjoy the success they had all accumulated — and for Mike to finally chase down his own — without the dark cloud of shame and fear that had unknowingly hung over their lives since they were eleven.</p><p>Consequently, that was also around the time that Eddie began living his life three nights at a time. So often after It, he found himself counting his blessings. The fact that he was still alive after having been impaled by the demon clown from outer space and had been told he would probably die from a massive hole in his chest in the Derry Hospital in the very same room his broken arm had been set almost exactly twenty-seven years before alone was reason enough but he had more. It usually went something like this:</p><p>Eddie Kaspbrak was alive against all odds. He was a wealthy business owner in New York City. Derry was nothing more than a bad nightmare at this point, all the monsters left in the past. He remembered his childhood, which, hey, that shit sucked, but it also meant he remembered the Losers Club and somehow that seemed like an even enough trade off for him. He was married to a woman who handled the aspects of his job he didn’t want to and cared for his every need. He had mind blowing sex fairly regularly. He had everything going for him when he looked at the facts on paper.</p><p>“Myra, I’ll be going to California for work again this Thursday. I’ll be back Sunday evening.” Eddie called over his shoulder as he methodically began to pack his bag. It was only Monday, but he always had been one to prepare early. </p><p>Myra popped her head out of the bathroom where she’d been painting her nails. “Again? You’ve been going so often. Are you sure expanding the company to California is the best idea?”</p><p>He sighed. It was always like that with her, double guessing any decision he made no matter how solid it was. “Yes Myra, I think it’s a good idea. Think of the money we could make. So many celebrities live there and would be willing to shell out good money for a limo service, especially one so reputable as ours.” <em> Mine, I mean. </em> He thought angrily. <em> But if I say that, you’ll act like you didn’t just come in as my secretary and then start acting like you helped build the company from the ground up once we got married.  </em></p><p>“I just think that if you wanted to expand, it should’ve been somewhere closer, don’t you think? I mean, flying so much can’t be good for your health. You know how dirty airports are, absolutely filthy places. And the altitude from flying? I’d be surprised if so much going up and down didn’t do something to you internally. I read once that the change in air pressure can cause gas to build up in your body. It makes you chances of having a blood clot higher, Eddie-Bear. And we need to think of your heart too, you know…”</p><p>She was still going but Eddie stopped listening. It wasn’t worth listening to. It hadn’t been worth it when he was eleven and it was his mother talking about those disease ridden Barrens he wanted to play in, or when he was fifteen and she didn’t want him to hang around that dirty Tozier boy, or when he was thirty and met Myra only for her to start up where his recently deceased mother had stopped. And it certainly wasn’t worth listening to now that he was forty-one and suddenly remembered his childhood and how desperately he’d fought to get away from his mother only to fucking marry her. </p><p>Richie had called him brave once. Maybe more than once; even after getting his memories back, at forty-one so many of them had become hazy. Anyway, how was he supposed to keep track of all the shit Richie said as a kid? He never stopped running his fucking mouth. But if there was one thing he didn’t feel, it was brave.</p><p>It was fine though. Times like these were when he would close his eyes and run through his blessings again. He’s alive. He’s wealthy. He never has to go back to Derry. The Losers Club. He’s married. He has amazing sex. After a deep breath, he opened his eyes and it did feel a tiny bit better. Not much, because she was still talking and he was pretty sure it was bringing on a migraine, but enough to handle the situation.</p><p>“— and not to mention those people in California, I don’t want you to get sick because they aren’t clean people, Edward.” She started to take a breath and Eddie took his chance. </p><p>“Marty, I know you’re worried about me since Derry,” <em> where I almost died, </em> “but I promise you there’s nothing to worry about flying,” <em> it’s probably the least scary thing I’ve done recently </em> , “and California isn’t going to give me diseases,” <em> it better fucking not or I’ll kick it’s ass, </em>“and this is going to be good for business. I won’t be gone long, okay, honey?” He laid it on pretty thick by crossing the room to plant a soft kiss on her cheek. It was nothing intimate or romantic and it felt more like kissing one of his great aunts on the cheek after an undetermined amount of time since he had last seen them and he awkwardly couldn’t decide if he should just hug them or if it really warranted a kiss than kissing his wife at all. So in short, it was forced and uncomfortable. For him, at least. </p><p>Myra, however, gave him a smile that was almost coy. “You know I worry about you, Edward. It’s my job. I am your wife, after all.” She brought a hand up to his cheek and let it rest there, covering the scar from Bowers knife, not that she knew that’s how he got it. She was always doing that since she hated it so much. That tone of hers, though, was worrying. It was coquetish and soft and meant Myra wanted to have sex and, honestly, that was the last thing he wanted right then. </p><p>His mind was flashing <b> <em>ABORT </em> </b>in big red letters as if he didn’t already know he wanted to get himself out of the situation. He jerked back from her touch before grimacing. “I’m sorry, Marty, I’ve just had such a migraine all day. I think I should take some Advil and lie down.” She frowned but nodded to agree with him. “I can finish packing in the morning. How about we go ahead and go to bed early tonight?”</p><p>That seemed to appease her enough because that’s exactly what they did. He moved his suitcase to the floor and laid down at her insistence. When she finished her nails and they were dry, she brought him two Advil — “If you take too many at once without food, it’ll eat a hole in your stomach. You ate two hours ago so you shouldn’t take any more, okay?” — and water. She kissed his forehead and then curled around him, claiming the big spoon spot for the night. He felt trapped, physically but mentally as well. It was stifling there, wrapped up in her arms and listening to her quiet breathing in his ear. He wanted nothing more than to get out and away from it. </p><p>Three nights. He could do it for three more nights. That’s all he needed. </p><p>***</p><p>He survived, but it wasn’t easy. Myra regurgitated her entire speech about not expanding to California on Tuesday, but her performance was lackluster and didn’t faze him in the slightest, even with the added argument of burst ear drums and sinus issues added to her anti-flying rhetoric. Wednesday he was blindsided by her tears, sobbing about missing her husband and being so worried about him. They worked well enough in her favor to earn her approximately ten minutes of foreplay and an additional ten minutes of very boring, missionary sex before he faked an orgasm and slipped into the shower to finish himself off. It was a fairly standard routine he’d gotten in the habit of sometime around the first year of their marriage. He’d managed to put off sleeping with her until they were married but there wasn’t much argument he could make afterward, so he did his best to make it as painless as possible for himself.</p><p>But none of that mattered because he was on the first flight out that Thursday morning, at five am. A horrible hour of the morning, but worth it for what was waiting for him once he got to LA. Sure, it meant that after his terrible sex and his pity party in the shower, he only managed to sleep between the hours of midnight and three am, but who cared? He was on a six and a half hour direct flight to LA, where he wanted to be more than almost anything else. His back may hate him for it, but he could stand to sleep on the flight for a couple hours to make up for the awful night’s sleep. It’s not like he wanted his shitty airline breakfast anyway. </p><p>A child started screaming from somewhere, but Eddie couldn’t pinpoint where, nor did he care. He was going to care if they didn’t make it stop soon though. His watch read 4:25; it's not like he’d ever had much patience for children even fully awake, but certainly not that early. He could hear the rushed soothing whispers from a mother, but they did nothing to stop the screaming. He had half a mind to go scream in the kid’s face himself and see how they liked it. </p><p>He figured that was probably the lack of sleep talking and ran through his blessings again. Alive. Wealthy. No more Derry. Losers. Married. Good sex. </p><p>Somehow, being  hours away from LA was infinitely harder than being three days out. He hadn’t slept well in weeks and Myra had told him shitty probably not at all accurate statistics about plane crashes on the drive to the airport that morning and his life was perfect on paper and he still wasn’t fucking happy. </p><p>“Now boarding flight 523, direct to LAX. All those with priority boarding, please line up to the left.”</p><p>Six and a half hours and his world would make sense again. He could do it. </p><p>*** </p><p>By the grace of a god that he didn’t believe in, Eddie managed to get a window seat and no one sat down in the middle seat next to him. Someone was in the aisle seat, but he’d sooner do something as vile as join the mile high club than use a dirty airplane restroom so that didn’t matter much. As soon as they’d taken off, Eddie reclined his seat and blissfully drifted into sleep on and off for the first three hours of the flight. For some reason, the stewardess thought she should wake him up for the eight am breakfast and as much as he should’ve appreciated it, he didn’t. But he ate his stale white bread and strangely colored oatmeal and peach slices soaked in chemicals and additives that he knew weren’t good for his health without a complaint anyway. </p><p>Bill gave him a copy of his newest book and a flight full of internal turmoil seemed like a good enough time as any to begin a horror novel that would probably end terribly, so he dug in. Unfortunately for him, his row mate woke up with an hour left and she happened to be quite the William Denbrough fan. Normally, Eddie would cut off an interaction with a stranger on a plane quickly and politely, but even at forty-one years old, he still loved to talk about his oldest friend to anyone who would listen. </p><p>The last hour actually went by faster than the rest of the flight did. He wasn’t sure if he should chalk it up to the nerves that had been slowly eating away at his intestines since he’d woken up that morning — earlier if he was being honest, which he wasn’t and hardly ever was — or the pleasant chat he had with someone who completely idolized Bill almost as much as he did, if that was even possible. Before he knew it, he was pulling his satchel out from underneath the seat in front of him and shuffling his way down the aisle. </p><p>It was 9:18 am in LA when he found himself standing at the luggage carousel, watching as different colors and patterned suitcases drifted passed. Well, suitcases drifted by and he was watching, but he wasn’t watching them. No, he was watching everything else, all the sleepy families huddled together with one person grabbing the luggage for the whole group and the business men in suits who were on the phone the second they stepped off the plane and the people waiting on their loved ones to emerge from the terminals behind him. His suitcase passed him twice before he finally snapped out of his daze and snatched it up on the third time around. </p><p>Like hell he was going to trust Uber or taxis in a Metroplex like LA, so he got himself a rental car instead. He sat behind the wheel of a Toyota Camry, the only car he would take because it was the one with the best safety rating of the company’s options, and stared at a contact screen on his phone. After several deep breaths, two near panic attacks, and seriously considering a hit of his aspirator that he had been trying to stop using since Derry six months ago, he finally managed to hit call. </p><p>It rang once. Then again. By the third ring, he was about ready to call the whole thing off. Return the keys to the Camry, buy a one way ticket home, tell Myra she was right, that LA was a bust, and to never look back. </p><p>The fifth ring was interrupted. “It’s so early. What the fuck do you want?”</p><p>“Richie?” When he talked to whatever that girl’s name was on the plane, he had sounded politely interested, maybe actually interested at best. He hated how instead of that, he sounded pitifully needy at that moment. Fuck Richie Tozier and whatever spell he had over him.</p><p>“Fuck, Eds?” There was rustling. The covers being shoved off unceremoniously as all six foot three inches of Richie Tozier sat upright and scrubbed the sleep from his eyes. Eddie could practically see it all happening in his head — it was a younger Richie in his memory, a high schooler with braces and acne and a terrible haircut, but Richie nonetheless. He always imagined a younger Richie in his head, no matter how many times he had seen him fully grown. “What— shit, is it nine already? What’s up, man?”</p><p>“Must be nice, sleeping at whatever hours you want because you’re some big shot famous celebrity. Is it everything you ever dreamed of as a kid, asshole?” That was better. Less desperate, more in line with what teenage Eddie could’ve pulled off. Man, teenage Eddie had been so much better at this whole hiding-away-every-emotion-he-ever-felt-but-anger thing. </p><p>Richie huffed a sleepy laugh and Eddie could hear him flop back into his bed again. “Nah, it’s a little lonely. You know I’m still missing the love of my life—”</p><p>“Richie, I swear to god if you say my mom—”</p><p>“Good ole Sonia Kaspbrak, may she rest in peace.”</p><p>“Fuck you.”</p><p>“Name a time and place, sweetcheeks.”</p><p>Eddie couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across his lips. He hated when Richie used nicknames for him. He hated it because he actually loved it and somewhere along the way, Richie had figured out he loved it and became an absolute monster, drunk on the power he held over Eddie. “Okay. Well I just landed in LA so…” He let his sentence hang in the air, unfinished. They both knew what he was saying, even if he couldn’t give it words. Richie had always been able to hear the words he could never say, even after all those years apart. </p><p>“Oh. Really?” He practically sounded like a kid on Christmas, even though he’d already known Eddie was coming on that day. He knew Richie would be happy if any of the Losers came to see him, but he was starting to maybe believe it was possible he had a special Eddie shaped place in his heart. He didn’t like what his heart did at the sound of Richie’s voice though. Or rather, he didn’t want to like it but that was rather a moot point that far in, wasn't it? He was already there, wasn’t he? “Fuck, Eddie Spaghetti, lunch is on me, alright? Want me to pick you up from your hotel?” </p><p>He had a rental car that he was sitting in that he was perfectly capable of driving to lunch and yet it made him feel fifteen again, Richie asking him if he wanted him to pick him up just like he used to when he got his license before Eddie because he was enough of a bastard to be born before him. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” </p><p>After that, Richie cracked another vulgar joke and Eddie told him to fuck off. He started his car and drove himself to his hotel, keeping Richie on the phone the whole time. He wouldn’t ever tell him and give him the satisfaction, but he has switched his entire fucking phone and plan after Derry for the idiot. He had never had a reason to FaceTime anyone until he suddenly had the Losers back in his life, so he’d never bought into an Apple product or a stupid unlimited data plan before. He yelled at the lot of them in a group chat they had made the day he had to finally upgrade and they had all been endlessly amused. He was almost certain that none of them had put it together that he really did it because Richie liked to FaceTime him late at night, if either of them had nightmares. Bill might have because he was the one that talked to Eddie the most besides Richie, but his secret was safe there. It’d been safe there since they were twelve, he was pretty sure it would always be safe with Bill after nearly thirty fucking years. </p><p>His hotel was nice, a lot nicer than the places he would usually put himself up in. It was the kind with free breakfast that was actually decent food and a fully functional spa that he was half tempted to try but never tell Myra about because she would surely list at least six diseases and all their symptoms that he could get from the floor alone. He finally ended the call when he insisted he needed to check in before they went to lunch, but even Richie would’ve had to be deaf not to hear how obvious it was that he didn’t actually want to. </p><p>He had only barely managed to drop his bags off in his room when his phone pinged with a text notification from Richie. It read <em>I’m here!</em>, followed by a string of emojis that Eddie didn’t bother to look at. He was glad he’d found that hotel. It was close to Richie’s apartment — only eleven minutes if he was correct and he knew he was — which was both a blessing and a curse. He definitely picked it keeping in mind maximizing his time with Richie before he left, so therefore closer was definitely better. But since Richie was kind of really famous for some reason, being a comedian with awful jokes and all, it was a nicer part of town so all the hotels were fancier and far more expensive. At first it had seemed like a frivolous expense but after sleeping on a shitty motel mattress for three nights and being a fifty-three minute drive from Richie, he’d been willing to upgrade just like he had for his phone plan. </p><p>The things he did for his asshole best friend.</p><p>He paused in front of the bathroom mirror for a moment to take in his reflection. His hair was still rather neatly combed and parted, but there were dark circles ringing his eyes. Anyone could tell he’d been having trouble sleeping. His lips were turned down in a frown, but that wasn’t new. The polo Myra had insisted he wear to look nice for the flight was rumpled with creases on the right side from where he’d curled against the plane window and his khakis sported some wrinkles as well. Vaguely he was aware he should change before he went in public but his phone chimed with another notification and he decided it wasn’t worth it. Richie wouldn’t care anyway. </p><p>After a brief internal debate on whether to take the elevator or the stairs — they were both so dirty and terrible options, but the elevator got him to Richie faster so it inevitably won — Eddie found himself pushing the front doors of the hotel open and scanning the parking lot for a familiar obnoxiously red Pontiac GTO. Richie had bought the car post clown killing, which most of the world had chalked up to either a mid life crisis or further proof of his mental breakdown. The Losers all knew it was really a little bit of both; but more than anything, it was an excuse to keep Eddie in his life, even if only the two of them were aware of that. Richie always had been terrible with cars and most physical labor, for that matter. The only reason his truck in high school lasted as long as it did was because Eddie kept it running through sheer force of will and dozens of old parts stolen from the junkyard late at night. Within two hours of buying him buying the convertible, Eddie had booked his first flight to California to make the junk heap it started out as run as well as it did now. </p><p>He heard the purr of the engine before he saw the car, but he didn’t have to look very hard. Apparently Richie had gotten impatient waiting for Eddie — really, when wasn’t he impatient?  — and drove right up to him, stopping inches from his leg. He had a lit cigarette in his left hand hanging out of the car and it made Eddie’s lips quirk up into a smile, remembering a lifetime ago when he was sixteen and made a rule that Richie wasn’t allowed to have cigarettes in the car and Richie listened, despite that fact that it was his own car and he bitched about it almost every time they drove together. </p><p>“Hey there, hot stuff. Need a lift?” Richie asked with a wink. He had on sunglasses shoved up onto the top of his head and Eddie still couldn’t get used to him with contacts after only knowing his eyes from behind his big clunky glasses for so long. His hair was windswept if he was being generous, a fucking curly rat’s nest if he was being blunt, and definitely looked like it had been a day or two since it had been brushed. Even though he had all his celebrity money and a stylist on speed dial, he still dressed just as badly as he did as a teen. Really, did he think he could single handedly bring Hawaiian print shirts in style? When they had been kids, Richie had always been a beanpole that could eat anything in sight and never gain a pound, but the years seemed to finally slow down his metabolism. Now he had love handles and a bit of a stomach and could definitely stand to go to the gym more often. As a kid, the laziness and blasé attitude about his appearance had been acceptable but the asshole had never grown out of it if the Hawaiian shirt he wore in his last Netflix special and his jokes about having a “dad bod” were anything to go by. </p><p>Eddie rolled his eyes and tried really hard not to think about being eleven, fifteen, seventeen, forty-fucking-one, and somehow still being attracted to his asshole of a best friend. “Fuck off, man. I’m tired.” And he was, but really, he only said it because it was how the script went. Richie said something obnoxious or stupid and Eddie pretended to be annoyed with it, fighting back a smile with a precarious scowl and rolling his eyes.</p><p>Richie laughed, completely unfazed. “But really though, get in. I’m starving, we’re getting In and Out.”</p><p>“Wow, can’t even take me to a proper restaurant?” Eddie teased as he pulled the door open and slid into the seat, but he instantly regretted it his choice in words. Richie could have been an actor with how well he hid his emotions in front of most under his widest grins, but he never could fool Eddie. His right hand tightened on the steering wheel and his lips twitched down just in the slightest. Before he could do something stupid, like apologize, Eddie added, “A burger sounds great actually. I haven’t had one since the last time I was here.”</p><p>“What the fuck does your wife feed you, man? Last time you were here, you said you hadn’t eaten chocolate in forever either.” Richie’s smile was completely gone and Eddie was two seconds away from panicking. Myra was a touchy subject for them, one Eddie tried desperately to pretend didn’t exist at all during his stays in LA and usually put Richie in a foul mood faster than anything else. Except instead of continuing down that path, Richie shoved something into Eddie’s lap. “I insist you eat that now because fuck waiting until after lunch for dessert.”</p><p>It was one of those ridiculous heart shaped boxes of chocolate for Valentine’s day, probably on sale for sixty percent off since the holiday was a week ago. Myra had insisted they go to the same restaurant every year, but he had long since learned better than to give her chocolate. All she could talk about their first Valentine’s day together was how she didn’t want to end up needing a root canal for a half assed present, so he tended to stick to jewelry now. It seemed to appease her for the most part. She usually gave him something practical; this year it had been a new watch that he never wore, preferring the one Beverly had picked out for him for their first Christmas remembering each other as adults. Once upon a time, he’d gotten shitty boxes of chocolate every year on Valentine’s Day though, starting when he was thirteen. Half the time they were stolen and they almost always had a few chocolates already missing, but they had remained some of his favorite gifts he’d ever gotten because they were from Richie Tozier. </p><p>It was just some cheap fucking chocolate. That’s all it was. It was nothing worth <em> crying </em> over, he had to remind himself as tears pricked at his eyes. “Thanks asshole.” He wanted to sound nonchalant, like he didn’t actually care, but it wasn’t like he’d ever been good at hiding anything from Richie either. Eddie knew he could see just how much it meant to him. He opened the box to ruin his appetite just like he’d been told to find three chocolates already missing. He didn’t need to check to bottom to know they were the caramel filled ones. Ever since he told him how much he hated how they stuck to his teeth their freshman year of high school, Richie had eaten them before forking over the rest of the chocolates. He never had told him how much he appreciated it, had he? Those silly little things that Richie would do for him. He wasn’t going to start now either. “Quit fucking eating my shit before you give it to me.”</p><p>“Never!” Richie cackled as he threw the gear shift into drive because he knew just as well what Eddie really meant. </p><p>Eddie scrambled for his seatbelt and damn near overturned the box of chocolates in his lap in his haste. “Fuck you dude! I don’t have my seatbelt on!”</p><p>Instead of answering, Richie turned the radio up loud enough that they would have to shout to hear each other. Fucking typical. He was an absolute pain in the ass and more trouble than he would ever be worth. It was like rather than grow up over the last thirty years, the fucker had stagnated at sixteen. He couldn’t stand him sometimes. </p><p>Eddie was happier than he had been in weeks.</p><p>***</p><p>“So there I am, naked as the day I was born, and honestly, the only thing I really wanted back was my shoes.”</p><p>Grown, forty-one year old men did not snort Dr. Pepper through their noses laughing at a stupid college story from their best friend from when they were teens. They didn’t, which is why that’s not what Eddie did. That’s not why there was a wet spot on his khakis. It wasn’t, okay? </p><p>Except it totally was and now Richie was laughing at him rather than at his own story, throwing napkins across the table at him instead of handing them to him like a normal goddamn person. Eddie hated him sometimes. Except that he didn’t, not really. </p><p>Meals with them had always fallen into a simple routine that carried over even after twenty years apart. Richie would shovel all his food down as fast as he possibly could while Eddie was ranting about something — usually his terrible table manners or a disease he was likely to get by being gross — and then they would switch. Eddie would eat, albeit much slower, while Richie told bad jokes — they were definitely better as an adult but he would die before he ever told Richie that — and stupid stories that he interrupted frequently to argue about something. One of them usually ended up with food on them and Eddie hated that it was usually him, but it almost always Richie’s fault.</p><p>“Clean yourself up, Eds. Come on man, you look like you pissed your pants.” God, there were tears in his eyes, he was laughing at Eddie so hard. </p><p>He decided he might kill him on this trip. It might make his life easier. “Fuck you, prick, it was your fault!”</p><p>“I know I’m super funny but you didn’t have to wet yourself.” </p><p>“I’m gonna kick your ass.”</p><p>“Can you even reach it?”</p><p>Eddie threw a cold fry at him.</p><p>After another fifteen minutes, they managed to throw away their trash and make it back to Richie’s car. It would’ve been faster had they not devolved into a food fight for about five minutes before Eddie remembered he was not sixteen with a stupid humongous crush on his best friend that he was never allowed to voice because he knew better than to be gay in Derry in the eighties. Even then, he still threw another two fries before he actually stopped. </p><p>“Where to next, Eddie Spaghetti? The world is our oyster. I’ve cleared my whole schedule for the whole time you’re here.” Richie smiled at him and he had to remind himself again that they weren’t teenagers anymore and he was just simply too old to have stupid things like crushes anymore. </p><p>“Don’t call me that.” Eddie groaned, then looked down at his lap. “I should probably change my pants. It really does look like I pissed myself.” It was a weak and flimsy attempt but Richie always saw through his bullshit. </p><p>“Right-oh Spaghettio. Back to your fabulous hotel.” </p><p>He cranked up the volume on the stereo to entirely too loud, but Eddie appreciated it that time. His heart was hammering in his chest like he was about to jump out of an airplane rather than return to his hotel room. If they’d tried to talk, he might’ve done something of Richie levels of stupidity, like tell him he loved him or something equally as awful. Instead, rock and roll played and Eddie did his best not to look at his best friend the entire car ride.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 3 More Nights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He still had three more nights left to be happy though and he was going to do his damned best to enjoy them.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tags are uh updated. without further ado let's get this show on the road shall we?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Eddie Kaspbrak was alive against all odds. He was a wealthy business owner in New York City. Derry was nothing more than a bad nightmare at this point, all the monsters left in the past. He remembered his childhood, which hey that shit sucked, but it also meant he remembered the Losers Club and somehow that seemed like an even enough trade off for him. He was married to a woman who handled the aspects of his job he didn’t want to and cared for his every need. He had mind blowing sex fairly regularly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was just one problem with that. Those last two were completely unrelated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, you’re so beautiful.” Richie whispered and it was the only warning he gave before he was crowding into Eddie’s space, kissing him like he needed it more than oxygen. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If only teenager me could see me now. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He let Richie set the pace for them at first since he had actual experience with men, but after the first few “business trips” he took to California he felt a lot more comfortable than he thought he would. His hands were up Richie’s shirt, alternating between digging his nails in, dragging them down his back and touching him in any place he could. After all those years wasted pining when they were kids, he intended to make up for lost time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only a matter of seconds before they managed to shuffle over to the bed and collapse on it. Richie had given up on exploring his mouth with his tongue in favor of stripping them both as quickly as possible. Eddie’s shirt went first, tossed on the bedside lamp, and was quickly followed by Richie’s own two shirts. He got distracted at that point, letting his hands wander over Eddie’s bare chest and hips while he whispered sweet nothings into his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie hadn’t know what sex with a man, especially Richie fucking Tozier that he’d been in love with just about since he could tie his shoes, was supposed to be like. Half of his teenage jacking off material had been just Richie’s big hands or a glimpse of his mostly bare hips as they swam in the quarry or some other inane moment where he got hot and bothered by something he saw every day of his life. The other half had been fantasies of what those hands would feel like on his body and all the things he would let Richie do to him. In hindsight, his imagination sucked and would never come close to being half as amazing as the real deal. He never imagined the soft words Richie showered him in or how he touched Eddie with a kind of reverence that he’d never deserve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richie— fuck, do that again.” He‘d planned on asking if they could at least peel off his still slightly damp pants but who would’ve been able to focus with Richie’s mouth biting at his neck while he rolled his hips down </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pulled away from his chest and Eddie hated the whine that forced its way out of his throat. “Have I ever told you you’re bossy even in bed?” He teased, smirking. Eddie wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. He wanted him to shut up and kiss him again. He wanted him to keep talking because at some point in his life, his annoying voice had become one of Eddie’s biggest turn ons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have I ever told you that you’re an ass?” He groaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughed. “Only like every damn day. You know what though? I like </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I kiss you will you shut up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you wanna find out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite all his imagined sex with Richie in high school and maybe a little post Derry before they had started up whatever this was, he didn’t have a lot of experience. He’d stayed a virgin until he was married, half because of a lack of options and half because he could never seem to find any women attractive during the period of time where he tried his best to forget he was ever gay. And after that, sex had just become just another chore he performed for Myra’s benefit. He thought he would spend his whole life not enjoying it, like everyone secretly hyped it up but no one really liked it like they all said they did. For some reason, that made more sense to his repressed brain than the idea of just being attracted to men did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until Richie came back into his life in Derry and he remembered how goddamn horny he was used to be all the time. Just getting a peek of his collar bones or how well his thighs filled out his jeans had his mind wandering down dangerous paths. He wasn’t sure how he ever handled the constant touching as a kid because as an adult it took every ounce of his willpower not to kiss Richie as soon as he banged that stupid fucking gong in the Jade Orient. His willpower apparently had an expiration date though because as soon as they had killed It and made their way back to the Derry Townhouse, it was nowhere in sight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had been the first time they slept together, but obviously not the last. It had been over a year of fake business trips to California that really were a three day sex-cation in which the two of them did their best to indulge as much as their horny teenaged selves would have if they hadn’t been born in Derry in the eighties. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get these fucking pants off me now or so help me god, I’ll kick your ass.” Eddie tried to sound threatening but it was hard when all his words came out so breathless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie smirked against his stomach where he’d been intently working on a hickey. “Your wish is my command, Eddie Spaghetti.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He resisted the urge to kick him like he used to when they were both stuffed into the too-small hammock in their old clubhouse. “Don’t fucking call me that in bed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got what he wanted though. His pants were off, followed shortly by his boxers. Before he could say anything else — which most likely would have been a demand to </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurry the fuck up and get inside me</span>
  </em>
  <span> — Richie spread his legs wide and licked a stripe up his painfully hard cock. It cut off any semblance of thoughts in his head, which was good because he definitely would’ve been horrified at the moan that tore its way out of his throat when Richie took him into his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck fuck fuck.” His vocabulary in bed was astounding. He managed to hiss Richie’s name when he felt his nails dig into his ass, but he was pretty sure that was the extent of words he would be able to form. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pulled off him all too soon and Eddie whined. He never seemed to have the same problem with talking. “Can I eat your ass? Please?” Even with the haze of pleasure he was riding, he still wasn’t sure that was something he wanted. Richie kept begging though. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to. Please, Eds, come on, baby. Please let me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck Richie Tozier and his annoying trashmouth and his stupid fucking nicknames. Fuck him using them against Eddie like a goddamn weapon. But mostly fuck himself for letting it work and wanting to give him anything he wanted when he used them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded shakily. Richie sucked in a breath and whispered, “Fuck. Okay. I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie was pretty sure he could get off on Richie’s voice alone, just calling him baby. He had never liked the nickname much. When Myra had tried it before when they were first dating, he asked her to stop since it felt patronizing and infantilizing. But when Richie did it, it sent electricity down his spine and made his toes curl. He didn’t ever think too hard on why that was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie flipped him over with upper body strength Eddie didn’t know he had, manhandling him into whatever position he wanted. He pulled him up to his knees by his hips and shoved his shoulders down and Eddie let him, feeling pliant under his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Eds, last chance to back out.” He pressed a kiss to his tailbone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie could feel his breath on his back and it made him shiver in anticipation. He felt brave, braver than usual, always braver with Richie around. “If you ask again, I’m gonna tell you no.” He wasn’t and they both knew it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t have that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without another word, he licked Eddie’s rim. He had expected to not enjoy it, but he was so bad about indulging Richie that he was willing to try it anyway. He wasn’t entirely wrong; it was a rather odd sensation, not quite anything he could have prepared himself for. It made him squirm, unsure if he wanted to pull away entirely or push back for more pressure. It wasn’t necessarily bad, but it wasn’t quite good either. He was willing to let Richie have his fun for a few more seconds before he demanded to be fucked properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he did something with his tongue that felt absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing</span>
  </em>
  <span> and any thought Eddie had of making him stop evaporated. Within a few more seconds, his legs were trembling and he couldn’t hold back any of the noises from coming out of his mouth, but that didn’t stop him from trying by burying his face into the sheets to muffle them at least. He couldn’t even stop himself from pressing his hips back then, which Richie rewarded him with by moaning and finally shoving his tongue in his ass. He pushed in and out in a steady rhythm and Eddie had the terrifying thought that he was closer to cumming in that moment just after they started than he ever was with Myra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After what could have been seconds or hours, Eddie was pretty sure his legs were going to give out if he let Richie keep going. “Richie. Richie, I want you to fuck me.” Instead of stopping, Richie moaned and pressed in deeper. Eddie choked back his own groan. “Fuck, if you don’t fuck me now, I’m going to cum and kick you out and leave you with blue balls, you asshole.” That finally did the trick and Richie pulled away with a chuckle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I ever tell you how much it turns me on when you threaten me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, he hadn’t. It did explain why they always seemed to have sex immediately after a heated debate about something stupid that devovled into childish name calling and petty insults though. Eddie decided to try to use it to his advantage. “Well, if you don’t hurry up, I’ll finish myself off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I watch?” Eddie didn’t need to be facing him to know he had a ridiculous grin on his face because he was so damn proud of himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe next time.” He considered saying yes, just to see where it got him, but he was pretty serious about Richie fucking him that moment. It had been almost six weeks his last trip to LA, which meant almost six weeks since he’d had good sex. Unfortunately for him, there was just about nothing that Richie enjoyed more than teasing him, so he needed to think of a pretty good way to convince him to give him what he wanted. So he stole a page out of Richie’s book and rolled onto his side best he could with Richie still between his legs to look up at him. “Richie, please fuck me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I want it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the air rushed out of Richie’s lungs. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, okay, yeah baby roll over, I wanna kiss you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought of where his mouth had been ruined the entire moment for Eddie. “Jesus Christ, you better go rinse your mouth out with mouthwash before you get any ideas of kissing me again.” He grimaced as he rolled over the rest of the way over. Richie grinned wickedly and leaned in closer like he was going to ignore Eddie. “Fuck you, I’m serious dude, you come anywhere near me with that mouth and I’ll kick you out for real this time. Don’t be disgusting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll go rinse my mouth out. Try not to miss me too much, Spaghetti Head.” He dashed to the bathroom and Eddie had to resist the urge to giggle at his haste. He knew better than to laugh at Richie’s idiotic behavior too often though, lest he get it in his head to do it more often.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And do something about those fucking pants, Trashmouth. I can’t believe you haven’t taken them off yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie reappeared by the bed in a flash, struggling with the button on his jeans and kicking them off as he tried to walk at the same time. Eddie couldn’t help himself that time, watching Richie trip himself over his jeans, and he laughed loudly. One of the best things about Richie was that he never seemed to get embarrassed or worried if people were laughing at him or with him, so when he heard Eddie’s laughter, he just grinned wide and yanked his leg free. “Can’t help that I’m eager to get in your ass, Eds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a menace.” He hated how much his words sounded more like </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you</span>
  </em>
  <span> than they had any right to. “For somebody so eager, you sure are taking forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah yeah,” He rolled his eyes and dropped his boxers before climbing back on top of Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tangled his fingers into Richie’s hair when he leaned down to kiss him deeply, allowing the momentary distraction. Eddie bit down on his bottom lip after the sweetness of the moment wore off and he remembered his goal. He grabbed one of Richie’s hands — the one currently pinching his nipple — and shoved it down between his legs before pulling him off his mouth by his hair. “Hurry up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie snorted. “You’re so impatient. Don’t act like we don’t have three full days to fuck before you leave.” He said, but he pressed one more soft kiss to Eddie’s temple before groping blindingly at the bedside table for the lube he saw earlier. “You okay like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His complaints about missionary sex with Myra from the night before flashed in his head, making his stomach roll with guilt when he reailzed the idea thrilled him when it was with Richie. He couldn’t look his own fucking wife in the eyes while he had sex with her, but he was eager to let his best friend from his shitty childhood do whatever he wanted with his body and stare into his eyes while he did it. Was he fucked up or what? He couldn’t get his voice to work, so he nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie poured the lube over his fingers, spreading and warming it up before skipping straight to pushing two fingers in. Eddie groaned and figured he could be a bit nicer since Richie was giving him everything he wanted, so he yanked him by the hair again, this time for another kiss. It was clumsy, full of moaning into each other’s mouths as Richie scissored his fingers and clanging their teeth together when Eddie got too excited, but it was perfect all the same. Eddie couldn’t remember a time he felt more right than he did when his lips were on Richie’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They finally seemed to be on the same page of rushing towards their goal. Richie pushed a third finger in and Eddie had to tear his mouth away to suck in a deep breath. He didn’t give him a chance to adjust, just shoved his fingers in as deep as he could and crooked them, searching for his prostate. He was rewarded with the beginnings of a whine when he hit it before Eddie threw an arm over his mouth to muffle the sound. “No, baby, come on, let me hear you.” Richie crooned, kissing down his neck. “You sound so good. Come on, Eds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not my fucking name.” He snapped, but he moved his arm anyway because he was a sucker for Richie and his stupid voice and his annoying pet names. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nipped at his pulse point and Eddie shuddered. “You love my nicknames.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No I don’t.” He argued and it might have sounded half convincing if he didn’t moan Richie’s name immediately after. If they kept going like that, he was going to cum before Richie even got inside him and he was not going to have that. “I’m ready, fuck, Richie. Just fuck me already </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eds, you don’t even know what you do to me, do you?” He groaned, pulling his fingers out. Eddie let out a whimper at the loss, pushing his hips towards Richie. “You’re gonna be the death of me, man. Let me put a fucking condom on or I might jizz, like, right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re disgusting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me something I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was rhetorical, of course it was, but a thousand secrets ran through Eddie’s head. Things that he hadn’t ever told anyone and didn’t ever intend on utterly out loud. Some were silly, like the fact that he actually thought Richie was the funniest person on the planet. Others were depressing and he got rid of them as soon as the thoughts came, like how he wished so desperately not to have to go back to his wife. Mostly, one thing just bounced around his head over and over, something as familiar to him as his stupid fucking aspirator since he’d had it almost as long: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And obviously he couldn’t say that. He’d been keeping locked away in his chest since he was ten, he wasn’t about to ruin all that hard work now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he managed to chase away all his secrets from his mind, Richie had slipped the condom on and was staring at him with a weird look on his face. “You okay, Eds?” His voice was soft, much softer than he ever used in public, and it sent warmth through his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked, but he heard it in his voice. His breath was coming faster now and he could feel his throat tighten painfully with the effort of holding back the tears that were in his eyes for some reason. They spilled over and he scrubbed at his eyes furiously. “Oh. Fuck. I’m sorry, I don’t know why…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey man, it's okay. Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” Richie pulled his hands away from his eyes gently and he kissed his forehead. Eddie started crying right before they had sex like a fucking freak and he was being so kind anyway. He couldn’t handle it. Fuck, he loved him so much it made his heart hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t say that though and shook his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie kissed him sweetly on the lips when he struggled with his words. “You don’t have to talk about it. I know you hate acknowledging that you’re kinda fucked in the head.” Fuck, he wanted to kick his ass. How could anyone sound so sweet saying such crass words? “Tell me what you need, baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You. Please. I just…” Eddie pulled one of Richie’s hands to his face so he could press a kiss to his palm. “Can we pretend I’m normal for two seconds and just have sex?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If that’s what you want.” He whispered. Eddie nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie let go of his hand to line himself up Eddie’s hole and pressed in slowly. Eddie let his head fall back and he moaned loudly, enjoying every second of the delicious stretch. “Richie, fuck, I always forget how big you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groaned in response. “Shit, Eds.” He stopped when he bottomed out, giving them both a second to adjust. “I swear you got tighter, what the fuck? God, you feel so good, baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I ever tell you how much I love when you call me that?” He might not ever get to tell him how much he loved him, but he could give him that much, right? More tears spilled from the corners of his eyes, but he squeezed them shut so that he didn’t have to look at Richie while he said it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll call you whatever the hell you want me to, Eds.” Richie pulled out before pushing back in even slower than the first time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sighed, but it came out way too fond. “I tell you not to call me Eds all the time, dipshit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but,” Richie did it again a second time, pushing in as slow as humanly possible. It was pissing Eddie off almost as much as their argument was. “You love it and you know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated him sometimes. Mostly when he refused to listen to whatever bullshit Eddie fed him and could see exactly how he really felt about things. Instead of giving him the satisfaction of answering that, he lifted his hips in an attempt to speed things along. “Will you just shut up and fuck me already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing wrong with taking things slow, Eds.” It was like he couldn’t help himself from arguing, even though he’d already sped up the pace and fucked into Eddie faster. “And I have no intentions of shutting up ever, you know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before they’d slept together, Eddie didn’t know it was possible to laugh during sex, but there he was, laughing as Richie hiked up one of his legs and thrusted harder. “Fuck you, Trashmouth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s kinda what we’re doing, baby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughed again and he was only moderately irritated by the fresh wave of tears that streamed down his cheeks. Richie was true to his word though. His mouth never stopped moving, filling the room with praises for him mixed in with plenty of expletives. Eddie’s name fell off his lips over and over again, but that was okay. All Eddie seemed to be able to say was Richie’s name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swore every time they slept together, it got better somehow. Maybe that was because they were learning how to be together or maybe it was because Eddie always expected it to lose its novelty and it surprised him each time it didn’t, but he didn’t really care. All he cared about was the fact that he knew Richie was his, if only for those fleeting moments of passion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, I’m— Rich, I’m close.” If he could think about anything else other than Richie’s cock and his own impending orgasm, he might have been embarrassed by the fact that neither of them had touched his cock in fifteen minutes, but he couldn’t. Richie pulled his leg up higher for a better angle and hit Eddie’s prostate straight on. He saw stars and couldn’t help it anymore, finally reaching down between the two of them to give his cock a couple messy jerks before he was cumming with a sob. “Shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie followed soon after, tensing and pressing in as deep as he could, his nose buried in Eddie’s neck. “Fuck, Eds, that was amazing.” They stayed like that for a few moments, both struggling to catch their breath and coming down from their orgasms. Richie usually took longer to come to his senses afterward, quiet and boneless in a way hardly anyone got to see him, but he leaned back to wipe a tear from Eddie’s face quickly. “Wait, shit, are you actually okay? Like you cried the whole time, did I do something wrong? Are you sure you aren’t hurt? I mean, I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie cut him off by pressing their lips together softly, kissing him tenderly in a way that said it was clearly more than just a casual affair. Richie hesitated, but kissed him back with every bit as much emotion. He finally pulled back and opened his mouth to talk again, but Eddie rolled his eyes and cut him off. “I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me. I just, I got caught up in my head is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay… If you’re sure.” He didn’t sound completely convinced, but at least he was willing to let it slide for Eddie’s sake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stared at him for a moment, taking in everything he could. He wanted to memorize all the details of Richie’s face because he knew it was a matter of when, not if, that he wouldn’t get the chance anymore. He never wanted to forget how Richie’s nose was crooked from the time Bowers had clocked him and broke it in fifth grade or how his eyelashes were impossibly long, framing his sparkling blue eyes that always look too small when he wears contacts or the scar he had on his eyebrow from a drunken fall in college that he admitted didn’t even remember himself. He filed away all those little details that made up the man he loved for a later date when he was sure he would need them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to shower with me?” He asked, cupping Richie’s cheek and rubbing his thumb gently over his cheekbone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie leaned into his touch and nodded. “I hope you don’t expect me to get it up back in there though because as hot as you are, man, I have a pretty shit refractory period now that I’m forty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie rolled his eyes. “I just thought we could rinse off, fucker.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds great, Spaghetti Man.” Richie pressed a kiss to his palm before pulling out and starting to get up. “What’s the plan for the rest of the day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about we nap until dinner after our shower?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their shower was longer than Eddie usually indulged in, Richie insisting on just standing under the water and enjoying it. It was a waste of water and he’d always had a thing against getting pruney, but it was surprisingly relaxing with Richie pulling him close and humming songs he couldn’t name. Or it was, until he tried to wash off and Richie kept stealing his body wash to try and make bubble beards like a goddamn toddler that is. Then it was annoying and he made sure he voiced that sentiment as loudly as possible, both with his words and his elbows that he dug into Richie’s ribs while he laughed him off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow everything turned into a harder task than it should be once Richie was added to the equation. Instead of just drying off and putting on something to sleep in, Eddie ended up being chased around the bathroom naked while Richie tried to slap him with his towel “just like in the movies, Eds!” It may have ended when Eddie slipped near the doorway and had a conniption about the dangers of slipping in the bathroom and breaking a hip like he was ninety or it may have been when Richie laughed so hard he actually slipped on his own ass and Eddie scrambled to the carpet before he could slip while he was laughing at him on the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took infinitely longer to get done than it should have, but damn, if it wasn’t great to feel like a kid again. If he could bottle up that moment and save it for his worst moments when Richie wasn’t just a breath away, he thought he really might be able to survive the rest of his miserable life. It was worth it, wasn’t it? To feel like a kid again, even if it’s only for three nights at a time?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They collapsed into the bed once again, slower this time. Eddie said it was because they had to be tired, but Richie insisted it was because both of their asses were sore. As much as he didn’t want to reward that kind of behavior, Eddie could resist a snicker at his stupid joke. Or maybe he should reward it more often because it got him pulled close and a sweet kiss on his forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie started to fall asleep almost instantly, but he struggled to keep his eyelids open like he thought Eddie was going to disappear before he could open them again. Eddie couldn’t blame him — it really did feel like that. He was content to lay there for hours, happy to just exist in Richie’s arms, but his heart ached at the thought of what Sunday would bring. He was finally living his life for the first time, if only in short three night increments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still had three more nights left to be happy though and he was going to do his damned best to enjoy them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went out for dinner that night, just to a dive bar close enough to Richie’s apartment that he could park there and they could walk over. Eddie ate more food that he had only dreamt of after almost ten years of living with Myra and drank more beer than he usually would because — fuck, he finally felt safe for once. It was impossible for him not to feel safe when Richie smiled at him like that or touched his thigh underneath the table where no one could see. Honestly, he felt like he could take on the entire world as long as Richie was looking at him like he was important or something stupid like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m telling you, it’s totally true!” Richie managed to get out the words around his mad giggles, but only barely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie had certainly had enough to drink, but he eyed the last half of his beer anyway in a silent debate. On one hand, he wanted to leave the bar with the small amount of dignity one could retain by at least walking out on their own two feet. On the other…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I totally saw bigfoot. I swear on Bill’s life.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He downed the rest of his beer and jabbed a finger into Richie’s chest. “Watch it there, mister. We don’t fuck around and swear on Big Bill unless it’s true and that’s not fucking true. Bigfoot isn’t real, dipshit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, fine,” Richie rolled his eyes and even on the wrong side of buzzed, he could see a slight tinge of some emotion cross his face before he covered it up. If he were more sober, he could’ve categorized it easily, but the best his brain could handle was filing it away for a later date. “I swear on your mother, I saw bigfoot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit.” He was half tempted to steal the rest of Richie’s beer too. It sounded like a good idea until Richie draped an arm around the back of his chair and suddenly he felt too warm all over. If he drank any more, he might not remember what comes after this and he was pretty sure he wanted those memories. He wanted all the memories of Richie he could get.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie was still going on about bigfoot, but if there was one thing the Losers had all mastered, it was special selective hearing just for his signature Trashmouth rants. They could space out and appear to be listening, but only really catch any important key phrases or words that led to trouble, like “Hey watch this,” or “How mad would you be if I,” or the worst one, “Hold my beer,”. Eddie tuned out his rant about a giant in the mountains where he went skiing fifteen years ago and let himself get swept away in the tide of Richie’s overwhelming presence. He’d been doomed since he was eleven and realized that even though some fucking clown was about to eat them, he still only had eyes for Richie. Ever since then, it had just been a downward spiral of letting the asshole get away with more and more until Eddie was well and truly whipped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It got quiet and Eddie realized he had no idea how long he had been staring at Richie’s hand on the bar. “Eds? You need to go home, Spaghetti Man?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pried his eyes away from his fidgeting hands to look at his face. Half his hair was wild and curly and the other half was smashed to his head from where he’d slept on it and the idiot hadn’t bothered to even attempt to brush it out. After their shower, he’d lost his contacts and resigned himself to being blind before Eddie reluctantly admitted he had an extra pair of glasses for him, so familiar rectangular clunky frames sat on his nose and the lens made his eyes look the appropriate size again. His lips were pulled down in a frown, but Eddie was struck with the sudden realization that he knew exactly how soft they were and how he liked to be kissed. RIchie was a fucking wreck and he never looked more beautiful. Those three stupid, humongous, ridiculous words tried to force themselves out his lips with his permission and he struggled to swallow them back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I think I should probably go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s frown deepened and Eddie wanted to take his words back. He would have done just about anything to never see him frown again. “Okay. Do you want me to call you an Uber? I don’t think I should be driving either…” And then Richie did something that he never does around Eddie. He looked nervous, chewing at his bottom lip and eyes darting from the bar to Eddie and back. “Or we could walk back to my apartment? It’s close. You could sleep off the beer and head back in the morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a reason he should say no and take an Uber back to his all too fancy hotel and just call Richie again in the morning. He was sure there was. But the alcohol made his head fuzzy and it made the reason just too damn hard to find. “Sure, Rich. Lead the way.” He swung an arm out in a gesture towards the door and nearly tipped himself out of his chair. Fuck, he was drunk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, Eddie Baby, let’s get you back to my apartment.” His voice a strange mixture of emotions that Eddie would’ve been able to sort through if he’d been sober, but the only one he could latch onto in that moment was an out of place sort of excitement? That didn’t make any sense though; it wasn’t like they’d never spent the night together before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decided that they were both simply too drunk and it must not matter all that much. There was a much more pressing issue of </span>
  <em>
    <span>walking</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it required almost his entire attention, making sure he didn’t bump into any chairs that weren’t in his way a second ago and the arduous task of staying upright. Richie was there next to him though, his arm around his shoulders like he knew he needed the support. Who wouldn’t love someone like Richie, who made him laugh harder than anyone else and whose smile was the brightest thing he had ever seen and who had stuck around his side despite knowing just what a shitty person Eddie was all these years? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—” Fuck, he was drunk if he thought saying those words was a good idea in the middle of stumbling down the street while they were sloshed off their asses. He should have known better than to get that drunk, but he was always so bad about getting swept away in the tidal wave that was Richie Tozier to remember there were reasons why things had to be the way they were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he’d been lucky, Richie would have been drunk enough to miss Eddie’s choked noise, but when was he ever lucky? “What’s that, Eds?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stopped in his tracks and stared at Richie, who walked for another step before realizing he wasn’t following. He turned and they stood there, like a couple of jackasses, on the side of the road staring at each other. The words rushed up his throat faster than he could catch them, begging to be let out after thirty years of hiding for so damn long for so many stupid fucking reasons. They were on his lips and that was it, he was going to tell him and fuck up everything and it was happening faster than he realized. “Richie, I l—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he lurched forward and vomited his dinner in the gutter. “Fuck, Eddie, I didn’t realize you drank that much.” Richie’s hand was on his back, rubbing soothing circles. “Are you gonna be okay? We have another four blocks back to my apartment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m fine.” He was drunk, sure, but he was still a solid eighty percent sure he just threw up out of sheer terror instead of alcohol poisoning. Not that he could say that out loud, especially after feeling a smidge more sober with an empty stomach. “Let’s just fucking go before I have to throw up again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the walk was quiet and uneventful. Richie pointed out a couple stray cats darting away from them and raccoons digging in the trash and Eddie nodded along, not adding much to the conversation. He was terrified to open his mouth again, scared of what might sneak it’s way past his teeth. At some point, Richie’s hand had found his and laced their fingers together and they’d begun swinging them back and forth like school children. There was probably a reason they shouldn’t be doing that either. He wasn’t sure if it was making things better or worse, but he definitely didn’t want him to stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stumbled through the lobby of his apartment building and giggled at the incredulous look the doorman gave them. Both of them were quite aware of how awful they looked, two grown forty year old men in rumpled clothing and beer flushed cheeks, clinging to each other to stay upright, but neither of them could bring themselves to care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the elevator, Richie pushed him into a corner and tried to kiss him before he reminded him that he’d thrown up, which lead to an argument of did it really matter and Eddie thought it most certainly fucking did. Apparently, letting him rant about the germs that could be in his mouth at that very moment was only interesting for about two slow, sleepy blinks, because after that, Richie sighed fondly and went back in, this time to press kisses against his neck. Eddie relented, although he kept on his rant, albeit breathlessly, until the elevator stopped on his floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie dropped his keys three times before he managed to unlock his door, which Eddie definitely made fun of him for much longer than was strictly necessary. Once they managed to make it through the door, things felt even hazier than before. There were hands on his hips and in his hair and pulling him close. He may have bumped into a chair — or was that the couch? Must have been the couch because now he was tumbling over the arm, his back hit with a thud that knocked the air out of him. He struggled to sit up but Richie was there, pushing him back down and fuck if he wasn’t able to deny him anything when he was sober, he didn’t stand a chance drunk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was barely able to keep up with what was happening. One moment Richie was mouthing at his neck and tugging at his shirt and then next his shirt was gone. The couch was gone too and now his back was against a cool wall, but only for a second because it was arching off as Richie palmed him through his jeans. The only thing he could really keep track of was where Richie touched him because it was like all his nerve endings were exposed and raw and every touch had him shivering from the desperate need for </span>
  <em>
    <span>more. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie had only seen his apartment on their Facetime calls, so he allowed himself to be pulled and pushed into whatever direction Richie wanted. Really, what was new? He always let Richie do that. He was dragged by his hand for a few seconds before roughly shoved up against the nearest wall like he couldn’t stand not to be kissing him for one second longer. For a moment, he thought they shouldn’t be kissing, something about being dirty, but that seemed so inconsequential compared to how </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> it felt to kiss Richie. The little moans and whimpers he was usually so desperate to hide were loud and needy and seemed to only spur Richie on more. After what felt like an eternity, the back of Eddie’s knees hit something and he toppled backwards onto what must’ve been a cloud, it was so soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie was there just a second later, kissing and groping and grinding down. Eddie was gasping underneath him, already too close to the edge like a pent up teenager, when he leaned down and whispered, “Eddie Baby, fuck me. Please, god. I need it. I need you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck!” He hissed and raised his hips to chase the friction Richie had started. It wasn’t an answer, not really, but they both knew he would do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was even more of a blur after that. Richie’s pants were off, then his, followed by a struggle to get Richie’s stupid shirts off. It felt like Eddie blinked and they were flipped, his fingers pressing into Richie while he sucked hickies into the insides of his thighs. Richie was really living up to his nickname as he babbled out praise for Eddie when he could, but mostly it was just cursing and Eddie’s name over and over again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked again and he was pressing inside Richie now, the only words they were able to form were each other’s name. Neither of them lasted long as all; Eddie would blame the fact that Richie never shut up and nothing got him going more than his stupid voice if anyone asked, not that anyone would since no one knew about what they did during his business trips. He pulled out and he knew there was something they should do, but Richie pulled him down into his bed and Eddie couldn’t fight him or sleep off.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>pls be gentle with me. this was the first real attempt I had at porn so it probs sucks. </p><p>Catch me on Tumblr at <a href="https://sraye96.tumblr.com/">SRaye96</a> or on twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/Raye96S">Raye96s</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 3 Days in a Blur</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Look, Eds, you have been in love with Richie since we were ten years old. Do you realize that? You're 40. That's three quarters of your life—”</p>
<p>"Well, technically I didn't remember him for like twenty-one years—” Eddie tried to interrupt, but he withered under Bill's look.</p>
<p>"Those twenty-one years, did you ever fall in love with anyone else?" He asked, exasperated.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have a playlist for this fic if anyone is interested in listening to it! It's just what I listened to while writing this, but it's <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4LPPdc4f2mK9u0Que56fNp?si=3lWl-Gv-QdyTwfzu96Y4jQ">here</a> if you wanna check it out!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie was floating in the air, his mouth and eyes open unnaturally wide as he stared directly into the deadlights just like Beverly all those years ago, back when they were just kids. Fuck, how did they get her down? How was he supposed to save him? Could he even save him? He was just a fucked up little boy with a fear of germs, even at thirty-nine. What the fuck was he supposed to do about anything?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Beverly’s voice came to his mind, floating to the surface like Richie floated in the air. </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>It kills monsters, if you believe it does. </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>He glanced at the metal fence post in his hand. Fuck, did he believe it did? It must, if Bev told him so. She never was wrong about much before and he still was pretty sure he trusted her with his life anyway, twenty-seven years apart be damned. “If you believe it does…” he murmured, only half aware he’d said anything at all.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He tightened his grip. What the fuck did it matter at this point? Richie, his best friend for-fucking-ever, was in trouble and he’d spent the better half of their childhood protecting Eddie from bullies and germs and his own mother and sometimes even his own head. Didn’t he owe it to him to do something? Of course he did. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“BEEP BEEP MOTHERFUCKER.” He got a running start, cocked his arm back, and threw the post with every last bit of his strength. It was going to fucking work and it was going to get Richie out of the air — because, fuck, that floating and the white sheen over his eyes were really starting to freak him out — and they were going to get out of there. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, the others were. He had already resigned himself to dying down miles under the earth in that disgusting pit of a lair. It only made sense that he would be the one to go if all six of them didn’t make it out. All the rest of them were such good people and they all had people or things or dreams waiting for them on the other side of this fucked up stroll down memory lane.They all had so much waiting for them on the other side of this nightmare and they all deserved to finally find their freedom without the memory of It hanging over them any longer.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He didn’t have anything like that back in New York. Sure, he had a wife, but how was he supposed to go back to her after seeing Richie again? More than that, how was he supposed to go back to her remembering that he was gay and was in love with his childhood best friend? How was he supposed to look her in the eyes after he’d slipped into Richie’s bedroom the night before and finally kissing him? Fuck, how was he supposed to ever touch her again when he knew what it was like to touch Richie now?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The post hit its mark, forcing It to close Its mouth and cutting off the deadlights. Richie fell to the ground and Eddie scrambled towards him, only half conscious of Its body falling. It wasn’t until he was hovering over Richie, his eyes clearing behind his glasses, that it finally hit him that It had gone down. He might have fucking done something right for once in his life. “Richie? Richie, I think I did it, I think-,”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>After being stabbed in the face earlier that day, he was pretty sure he had experienced the worst thing that could happen to him. His cheek still sparked with pain if he smiled or talked or existed and it was definitely something he never wanted to live through again. So, of course, It was a big enough asshole not to kill him easily. He felt the blood trickling from his lips before he felt the searing pain from his chest, ripping through him with such force he nearly passed out right there. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Honestly though, that was fine. He deserved it probably. Hell, he had cheated on his wife the night before because he knew he was dying down in this shit hole anyway. He could live with all that. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>But he couldn’t live with the horrified look on Richie’s face. He shouldn’t look like that. “Eddie, fuck!” Richie was scrambling towards him but he hit the ground first. Funny, he hadn’t even been aware that he was falling until his face smacked into the dirt. “Eds, come on man, you’re okay. We’re okay. We’re gonna get out of here, I promise.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>All he wanted to do was tell him it was okay. He hadn’t lived a good life, but the last three days in Derry had been the closest he might have ever came to it. And the last three nights, hidden from the rest of the world in Richie’s bedroom? Fuck, that might have been the closest he ever came to feeling alive. It was fine, he knew his place and it was to die so that the rest of the Losers finally killed that son of a bitch and got home safely. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Eds, come on man, you can’t leave me.” He didn’t even realize he had been pulled into Richie’s lap until one of his teardrops splattered against his face. That wasn’t allowed either. Fucker wasn’t supposed to be crying because he was going to survive and get out of there. “You aren’t allowed to leave me again, Eds. Come on, stay awake.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn Richie Tozier. Eddie never had been able to say no to him. So apparently he would stay awake, at least as long as he could, just to make that asshole happy. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie sucked in a deep breath, thrust into the waking world from the world’s worst memory that he relived almost every night in his dreams. There was no sunlight streaming in through the window where he had drawn back the curtain as soon as he got to his hotel room and that was his first tip that something was very, very wrong. The second was that he knew there’s no way in hell he would have let Richie out of his sight if he could absolutely help it during his three day stay in LA, but there was no one in bed beside him. His third tip came when he opened his eyes and couldn’t see anything he recognized at first glance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Holy fuck, did he go home with someone other than Richie last night? He quickly threw that thought out. Even drunk off his ass, there was only one person he wanted to go home with and that was Richie. Which meant…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He bolted upright in bed and groaned at how his stomach flipped at the action. For some reason, he was still naked, which meant he probably didn’t shower after they had sex last night and that he needed to do that as soon as possible. His skin crawled at the idea of all the bacteria on him, infecting him. He felt gross and </span>
  <em>
    <span>unclean</span>
  </em>
  <span> and… </span>
  <b>
    <em>dirty</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He threw himself out of bed with a start and stumbled around blindly in the dark, searching for his clothes on the ground but coming up empty handed. He’s not even sure his shirt made it to the bedroom. All he knew was that he needed to shower as soon as possible because he was dirty and disgusting and probably also about to vomit. Did he throw up last night and not brush his teeth? Jesus fucking Christ, he was disgusting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dirty.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck it.” He grumbled and started rifling through the dresser drawers for anything so that he could just make it to the bathroom for a shower. Finally, he settled on a pair of cotton pajama pants that he was sure glad he couldn't see the horrifyingly stupid print of or else he probably wouldn’t put them on his body. He nearly slipped trying to pull them on and his stomach lurched again, his hangover mounting pressure behind his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, it wasn’t until he threw the door open that he realized he wasn’t even sure where the fucking bathroom was. His breaths started to come quicker and his throat tightened and - </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he was not about to have a fucking panic attack. He just needed to get to the bathroom and shower and everything would be all right again. He just needed to get clean. He just needed…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Richie?” He called, his scratchy from sleep and dehydration. After clearing his throat, he tried again, walking down the hall towards what he hoped was the living room. “Richie? Where are you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There wasn’t a response. Eddie did his best to suck in deep breaths, but it was as if his lungs had shriveled up and refused to hold any air. Did he leave? Jesus, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. He was a grown man, he could handle waking up alone in bed. Hell, he woke up after Myra most mornings anyway! He should be used to it. But…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Richie?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He made it to the living room and sighed when he heard shuffling close by. “Eds? Are you up?” Richie asked from the next room over. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tension mostly drained from his shoulders at Richie’s voice. He felt like he could breathe again for the first time since he woke up, maybe not properly, but at least he wasn’t gasping for air anymore. He crossed the living room as quickly as he could, needing to see Richie in front of him. “Yeah, I’m up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit, I thought you would sleep in longer.” Richie stood at the stove, stirring something in the pan in front of him messily since he was turned most of the way around to look at Eddie as he walked in. “Wow, you look like ass. Do you want to go back to bed? It’s only, like, ten in the morning. I-,” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie didn’t care how early it was or how terrible he looked, he crossed the kitchen in a flash and crashed into Richie. His arms wrapped Richie’s waist and his buried his nose between his shoulder blades, sucking in one shaky breath after another. The first one was shuddering, tight and uncomfortable, but it came along with Richie’s undeniable scent of his awful three-in-one soap he used that was scented ‘fresh’ and an undercurrent of cigarettes. It shouldn’t have smelled good, but it smelled like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richie</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so nothing smelled better in his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure, everything was kind of fucked now that he was at Richie’s instead of hiding away in his hotel to try to keep some sort of boundaries between them, but none of that mattered in that moment. If he thought about the fact that he had broken the one last rule he had set for himself to keep this from going too far — as if it hadn’t started off too far and just gone further each time they saw each other — he would spiral into another panic attack and his inhaler was safely tucked away in his medicine bag at the hotel, so he didn’t want to risk it. Better to just focus on soap and cigarettes and the feel of Richie’s body against his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eds, you alright?” His voice was softer now. He turned back to whatever he was cooking and Eddie heard the click of the stove being turned off and the pan set to the side. With absolutely no grace, he managed to shuffle around to face Eddie and return his fierce hug. “Come on, Eddie Spaghetti. Talk to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t call me that.” His face smashed into Richie’s chest, so it came out muffled. It wasn’t the response he was hoping for, but it was all Eddie could get out with his throat still half closed and his body tight with nerves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie’s chest rumbled with laughter. “Whatever you say, Eds.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That either.” Eddie groaned, trying to shake his head, but mostly just rocking side to side on his forehead against Richie’s chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snorted. “Do you want to talk about your nightmare?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Absolutely fucking not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. What do you want to do?” Richie was so patient with him and it blew his mind. Myra would have already tried to guilt him into talking about whatever was bothering him and it wouldn’t have worked and he still wouldn’t have talked about his problems, but he would have felt significantly shittier.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After deliberating it for a few seconds, he lifted his head up to rest his chin on Richie’s chest so he could look at him. “Take a shower. I’m disgusting.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why are you in the kitchen?” Richie was grinning, ready to start making fun of him right after they woke up. Fucking typical Trashmouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Completely without his permission, Eddie’s face flushed and what the fuck was that about? Was he embarrassed? It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Richie</span>
  </em>
  <span>, what the fuck did he have left to be embarrassed with him about anymore? “I don’t know where your bathroom is”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.” Richie nodded. His smile was gone and his stupid face was frowning and he was chewing on his bottom lip again and Eddie was so whipped he wanted to kiss him to make him stop doing all of that. “I forget you haven’t been to my apartment before. It’s weird.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you just show me where the bathroom is so I can stop being dirty and put on real clothes?” He asked, remembering his mission. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie shrugged and he was obviously fighting a smirk. “Sure. You want to put on your clothes from last night or do you want to borrow some?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck. How had he forgotten that he didn’t have any clothes there? No wonder Richie looked so goddamn smug. He knew Eddie wasn’t about to put dirty clothes back on his body after his shower, which meant he had to borrow clothes, which meant Richie was going to give him the stupidest clothes he owned. He would probably take pictures and probably send them in the Losers’ group chat so he could make fun of him to all of them too like the asshole he was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eds?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you.” He glared up at Richie’s stupid smirking face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t a smirk anymore, it was a full blown shit eating grin. “You certainly did last night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just let me borrow some fucking clothes, you prick!” Eddie groaned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I really love our pet names for each other, don’t you?” Somehow, he didn’t kill Richie before he showed him to the bathroom and left him to it without even offering to shower with him, but at least promising to leave him some clothes on the counter. It would’ve been odd if Eddie hadn’t been sure he was going to finish making breakfast for them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taking a page out of Richie’s book, he stood under the spray of the water and tried to just enjoy the warmth. It wasn’t nearly as fun as it had been the day before with their bad jokes and fighting over the shampoo bottle, so instead he tried to imagine all the stress being washed off him like the dirt on his skin and how it would swirl around the drain with water, never to be seen again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That didn’t fucking work either, so he sighed and set about actually cleaning himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie was absolutely right about Richie giving him the most embarrassing clothes he could find and being a dick about it. For some fucking reason, he had a pair of red running shorts in his dresser — like that jackass ever ran a day in his life — that </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course </span>
  </em>
  <span>he gave to Eddie to wear. He couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than the much too big, well worn t-shirt with the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan</span>
  </em>
  <span> movie poster printed onto it. As much as he complained about the clothes, he also couldn’t help the stupid swell of affection in his heart at the sight of them, since the shorts were eerily like those he wore to see that damned movie with Richie in theaters all the way back in the summer of ‘89. Of course, he didn’t voice those feelings, just the displeasure of his mismatched outfit and a healthy bit of complaining that the food still wasn’t ready. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie had royally fucked himself by stepping foot into Richie’s apartment the night before for the first time ever after over a year of carefully planning his hotel rooms to never cross that line into domesticity like they did that morning; so he figured he might as well bum around until he got himself kicked out or had to leave to pack his bags for the flight home on Sunday. Whichever came first, really. Luckily, it seemed like Richie was perfectly happy to play along with his fucked up farce. They wasted away the day curled up on the couch watching bad movies on Netflix and snacking on junk food Eddie wasn’t allowed to buy at home. Richie offered to cook something for dinner when they needed something more substantial but Eddie insisted on making himself useful at least once a day, so he cooked for them. It didn’t taste great, but Richie insisted on paying him back by blowing him on the couch and really, who was he to complain about that? He’d never had so much fun spending the day in before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Around nine pm, they moved from the couch to the bed and made out lazily like the bunch of horny teenagers they never got the chance to be. Eddie couldn’t keep his hands off Richie and it started to worry him when he realized it wasn’t just his dick drawing him in. He wanted to run his fingers through his unkempt hair or to tangle their fingers together and hold hands like they were a proper couple. Which they weren’t and probably never could be because Eddie would go home to Myra when all was said and done because it’s what he always did, always had done, and probably always will do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the back of his mind, he knew Richie deserved better and a part of him hated that he kept coming back for more. Neither of them were getting any younger and committing to their half assed attempt at a relationship without any consequences was only going to hurt them both, but Richie really was getting the short end of the stick. He was throwing away his chance at finding real happiness with a man that could give him a real relationship that didn’t have to be hidden behind closed doors or heated stares or touches that have to remain casual to the untrained eye for Eddie, who couldn’t even commit to a patterned tie without running a cost-benefit analysis. But at the same time, he knew he was a selfish enough person to keep coming back and taking what he could before Richie wised up and told him never to come back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He fell asleep that night with Richie’s head on his chest and hated that it was simultaneously so right and so wrong. They fit together like puzzle pieces, all their edges and curves in the right spot, made just for each other, but the looming thought of </span>
  <em>
    <span>one more night </span>
  </em>
  <span>hung over them like a cloud. No matter how much they wanted it to last or how easy things were between them, they both knew there was an expiration date to that happiness and it would be gone in the blink of an eye. All their touches were tinged with desperation to make the most of every moment that slipped by, clinging to them so tightly it hurt. Eddie wanted to know what it would be like to just enjoy his time with Richie without knowing he would lose it all after only three nights. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie was still using him as a pillow when he woke up the next morning, only now their legs were tangled together too and his grip on Eddie’s waist had loosened. Waking up in Richie’s arms in his bed in his apartment was somehow infinitely better than waking up in a hotel bed in the same position and he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to go back now that he had a taste of what they could have if he were any less of a coward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That had always been the problem hadn’t it though? Once Richie gave an inch, Eddie took a mile and could never turn back to the way things were before. It started with the soft touches of his ankle in the hammock of their clubhouse when they were thirteen then turned into brushes of their hands together while they walked when they were fifteen and then laying too close together on Richie’s bed to listen to whatever new cassette he brought home when they were seventeen. Even after forgetting each other for twenty-one years, nothing had changed. Richie put a hand on his thigh at the Jade Orient and then it was kisses in Eddie’s room at the Derry Townhouse and it was pulling clothes off and they hadn’t been able to stop. Why would waking up next to Richie in the safety of his own apartment be any different? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next time he came to LA, he would have to ask Richie if he could forgo a hotel room entirely to just stay in his apartment instead. He’d already broken just about every rule he had ever set out for himself in order to have some semblance of control over their tryst, so he might as well throw out thewhole fucking rulebook. He could cling to the memories of their domestic bliss whenever he was inevitably forced to return to a house that had never quite become a home with a wife he didn’t love. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On that depressing note, he wiggled himself out of Richie’s octopus like grasp and made his way to the balcony to enjoy the sunrise. It had become a routine for him when he was in LA, sitting outside on his trips to watch as the first rays of light touched the horizon and lit up the dark sky, but he hadn’t seen it from such an amazing spot before. Hotel windows in the middle of other skyscrapers and buildings couldn’t compare to the view from Richie’s modest balcony, where the backdrop for the sun was the beach nearby instead of streets littered with cars and the light glittered off the ocean in a way that Eddie couldn’t remember ever seeing anywhere before. It was possibly one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen, right up there with Beverly Marsh on her wedding day and Richie Tozier’s stupid fucking smile, the one he got when he really laughed and his eyes squinted almost shut from how wide his smile was. He could get used to it, if he didn’t have to leave after only one more night with no idea when he would be able to come back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the sun had risen enough to be blinding instead of beautiful, Eddie went back inside to make coffee and breakfast. Richie slept so late that both got cold, but didn’t seem to mind, all too happy to cuddle close to Eddie while he microwaved them both. Neither of them seemed to want to be more than an arm’s reach from each other on their last day together for who knew how long, so they were content to laze around for that Saturday as well. They curled up together on the couch once again, only moving for bathroom breaks and food. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Most of the time was filled up with warm kisses and soft touches, both burning a trail of desire through them both, but they let it simmer instead of indulging. Rushing through the day wouldn’t give them the same satisfaction as drawing out every second, cherishing them because they weren’t sure when they would get to enjoy time together again. If Eddie could have stopped time, he would’ve then, if only to lay in Richie’s arms and to bask in the feeling of being safe to be himself instead of who everyone expected him to be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he couldn’t stop time and it seemed to speed up faster with each breath he took. They were falling into bed again Saturday evening after what felt like only an hour had passed since he got out of it. In the morning, he would have to rush to his hotel room and pack to make it to the airport to return to his normal, miserable life with Myra, so he decided to make their last night in who knew how long worth it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie sighed heavily and checked his watch again, as if he thought if he looked at it enough he miraculously wouldn’t be late to his lunch date with Bill or it would make the red light change any faster. His oldest friend was so busy between book tours, movie deals, writing, and living a successful, happy life married to Audra that Eddie hadn’t seen him in about half a year, since the last Losers’ Reunion they had thrown together, and he was determined to enjoy every second he could squeeze in while Bill was in New York. So, of course luck would have it that one of his drivers called out sick and he had to drive around two additional clients he hadn’t planned on before lunch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he finally made it to the hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant Bill had somehow found and demanded they eat at, he was seventeen full minutes late. He rushed past the hostess, who looked more bored than bothered, and straight to the booth where he could see his friend sitting in, sipping at some sake and reading a book. Not even bothering to announce his presence, he slipped into the booth next to Bill and pulled him into a tight hug. “Man, are you a sight for sore eyes, Big Bill.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eddie!” The excitement in his voice was almost the best thing Eddie had heard in months, second only to the excitement in Richie’s voice whenever he called to tell him when his next trip to California would be. “I’m so glad you were able to make it! I was starting to think you’d stood me up like a bad prom date, you asshole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They shared a laugh and they fell in sync together as easily as if they hadn’t seen each other in a day instead of a year. Eddie did the adult thing and moved to the other side of the booth, despite wanting to sit curled up with Bill on the same side like he used to when they were kids. They talked about anything and everything that had happened in the last few months as if they hadn’t texted damn near every day since the last time they were together. Eddie couldn’t stop smiling if he tried, not that he wanted to. Seeing any of the Losers made him feel more right than he ever had in his adult life, but Bill had always been the one he could be completely honest with. They had known each other since before either of them could tie their shoes and Bill had seen Eddie at all his lowest moments, but never thought any less of him for any of the things he’d said or done. He knew he could count on Bill through thick and thin and he couldn’t ask for a better friend.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s probably why he ended up spilling his guts to Bill over his kung pao chicken. It had all been festering in his chest; this secret that had started when he was ten years old just kept getting bigger and bigger, barely able to hide underneath his skin when it started and now it was just so big he felt like he might explode if he didn’t get it out. He admitted that his business trips to California never included any real business and a lot more of Richie than he’d been letting on over their phone calls the past few months. Then he barreled through the lies he’d been telling his wife and how miserable he was when he wasn’t in California, all of it running out of him so fast that he couldn’t have stopped it if he wanted to. Which he didn’t, because even if the world knew him as critically acclaimed author William Denbrough, he was Bill, Billy, Big Bill, who always had all the answers and knew just what to say to make everything better. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bill sat through it all, nodding and asking questions intermittently. His expression remained impassive, even when Eddie gave too many details, like how good sex with Richie was or the fact that he actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> giving blow jobs. After thirty minutes of almost uninterrupted motor mouthed ranting, Eddie finally looked down at his chicken and realized it was cold and almost untouched. “Okay, I’m sorry, that’s enough about my problems. How is your book?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Eddie, you can’t seriously expect me to not say anything about that.” He seemed completely undisturbed by anything that Eddie had said, more upset about the fact that the last noodle on his plate was running away from his chopsticks than the fact that he’d listened to more details about his friend’s sex life than he ever cared to know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie groaned. “I was really hoping you would just let me bare my soul to you and pretend it never happened, honestly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When have I ever done that?” Bill snorted and finally cracked a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly and I’m not about to start today.” Bill placed a hand over Eddie’s in a comforting gesture that made the tension in Eddie’s shoulders relax, dropping down from where they had been residing by his ears. He wasn’t even sure when he had tensed up in the first place. “First off, it’s about damn time you told Richie how you feel.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well…” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bill retracted his hand and huffed a sigh out, using it to cover his face. “Christ, Eds. You’ve been fucking for how long?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Keep your voice down!” He hissed back, much louder than Bill. Someone looked over at the sound of his voice and he glared at them until they turned back to their food. “Do you have to phrase it like that? Fuck, Bill.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t get to say anything anymore. You got your chance. Shut up and listen for once.” Eddie’s mouth snapped shut. It wasn’t often Bill pulled the leader card; he hadn’t wanted the job in the first place, so unless the Losers looked to him for an answer, he did his best to just be a friend. It just meant that when he did act as the leader, they were all quick to listen. "Look, Eds, you have been in love with Richie since we were ten years old. Do you realize that? You're 40. That's three quarters of your life—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, technically I didn't remember him for like twenty-one years—” Eddie tried to interrupt, but he withered under Bill's look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Those twenty-one years, did you ever fall in love with anyone else?" He asked, exasperated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He contemplated that. Sure, he was able to admit he wasn't in love with Myra and he never had been. Their entire relationship had happened because his mother had wanted him to meet her and then to date her and then to marry her. After his mother had passed, he was miserable, but it was the comfortable kind. The kind he was familiar with and had known almost his entire life — as far as he had been concerned until just a few years ago, it was the kind of miserable he had always been. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn't until the Losers' Club were all together again at the Jade Orient that he realized he had ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>been miserable for any period of time. It had always been when he had the Losers behind him. When Beverly was there to thrift shop with him after school since his mom would only ever buy him the same kind of clothes from when he was five until he was eighteen. When Stan would sit with him bird watching — mostly in silence, both of them content to exist in each other's presences, but sometimes with long winded vents about how their parents didn't understand them. When Ben would help him study in the library for French or history, two subjects he was absolutely abysmal at, and he would return the favor by helping Ben in math. When Mike would take him out to the farm to get an old truck working, letting him work on cars in a way that he had always dreamed to but never had been allowed. When Bill would read comic books with him in the safety of his basement, far away from his parent's eyes, and he would hold his best friend on nights that he needed to cry and had nowhere else to turn to since his parents had mentally checked out after Georgie’s death. When Richie.... </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, god, what hadn't he done with Richie? They would climb in the hammock together in their clubhouse, squished in too tight up until the day they left for college or when they would sneak into the junkyard to steal parts for Richie's truck. When they would lay together side by side to listen to a new cassette and sometimes Richie's hand would get too close to his and some nights, he swears he remembers even being brave enough to hook their pinkies together and hold tight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he lost the Losers' Club, he had lost his sense of what it really felt like to be alive and enjoy life. Eddie had only ever loved six people and only been in love with two, if his hero worship love for Bill from the time he was five until he realized he was so far gone on Richie he would never love anyone else the same counted. There hadn't been anyone who ever came close to the love he felt for the Losers' Club members and certainly no one he ever loved like he loved Richie, past or present. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grimaced. If there was one thing he hated more than being wrong, it was admitting that someone else was right. "No."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So you've been in love with Richie for three quarters of your life. Don't you think it's about time you at least tell him that?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If only it were that simple, then yeah, sure, maybe he would tell him that. But saying that out loud to Big Bill in the comfort and safety of his basement one night after running away from a bully who had called him a fag and saying it out loud to Richie were two completely different things. If he admitted it to Richie, everything would change. Sure, maybe everything wasn't great at the moment, but living life three days at a time was a hell of a lot better than never living at all, so he was willing to selfishly take what he could until Richie got smart. Admitting his feelings to Richie could damage the precarious balance of their current relationship permanently and that would be it for him. He would never get to feel as happy and safe and whole as he did when he was with Richie ever again, because he knew deep down that what they had was it for him. It was some soulmate level shit that he didn't even pretend to understand himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he couldn't say all of that out loud, he was too much of a coward; so he said the next best thing. "I'm scared, Bill." He hated how small he sounded when he said it. It reminded him of being small as a kid, an easy target for the bullies and his mother.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bill sighed and gripped his hand again. "Of Richie? Or of Myra?" Honestly, he didn't know the answer to that, so he shrugged. "Well, if you don't think Richie would take it well, I think you're either the dumbest person alive or you're blinder than he is."  Eddie snorted, but didn't give any other response. "Look man, I love you. I always have. You're like my brother and you know I would do anything for you. For all the Losers." It went unsaid between them that, basically, they all had proven that to each other already. "Which is why I'm going to say what I'm going to say now, even if you get mad at me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie grimaced. "Can we not? I would really rather just... talk about your new book or something."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You hate my endings just as much as everyone else does, don't pretend you don't." Bill snorted at his own dig at himself, clearly unbothered by it after years of hearing the constant criticism. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fuck you, I actually really liked your last book and I met a fan of yours on the plane."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Stop trying to change the subject."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groaned and shoved his plate to the side so he could drop his head onto the table to sulk. "Why can't you just let me be miserable?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So you at least recognize that you're miserable." Bill said, squeezing his hand. "Eddie, why are you with Myra?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The answer was easy: the safety and comfort of what he knew. She loved and took care of him just like his mother had: in a smothering, overbearing, suffocating way that he had become so accustomed to, he didn't actually know how to function without it. When he lost the Losers and his memories of them, he didn't have anything else, so he clung to that miserable sort of love so tightly he wasn't sure he even knew how to let it go anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For as much as Eddie talked, he couldn't string together the right words to say any of that, so instead he said, "Because it's safe."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Is it though?" Bill asked. "Do you love her?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No." It came out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop it and it was the easiest answer he had provided all day. He sat back up, but still refused to look at Bill, instead focusing on their hands. His were neat, nails trimmed to all the same length and kept free of any dirt, while Bill's cuticles looked chewed down to the first knuckle and his nails were half bitten off in some places, too long in others. It was crazy to him, to look at the differences in their hands alone, realizing how different all the Losers really were from each other, but to also remember that they were connected together by something deeper than either of them could put into words, some magic leftover from the Turtle or maybe just the bond of repression and trauma they shared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bill heaved a sigh. "Then why stay?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I..." Because it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> safe. No one had to know he was in the closet if he just stayed hidden there underneath layers of repression and old clothes forever so that they could never find out the truth. He didn't have to admit that all those years ago, Bowers and Hockstetter and all the other bullies from his childhood had been right about him. He didn't have to admit he was gay because even if the world had changed enough in his lifetime for it to be safe to be gay, he would never forget the slurs hurled at him or the way his mother would sneer when she said the word homosexual or what had happened to Adrian Mellon in the supposedly understanding world of the present. Staying with Myra was safer than facing the unknown with Richie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bill had the patience of a saint; hell all of them did except for Richie and himself. He wasn't sure they would ever have been able to put up with the two of them, with their constant bickering and instant gratification personalities, if they didn't. Instead of looking frustrated with Eddie, he just squeezed his hand again in silent support and spoke again. "Okay fine. Here's an easier question for you: How does Richie make you feel?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was an easier question. Richie made Eddie feel so many things all at once it almost made his head spin just to be in the same room as him. He could make Eddie want to kiss him and hit him simultaneously. He got under his skin faster than anyone else in the world, making Eddie's blood pressure spike and a stream of curse words flow from his mouth, but he also made his heart pound in his chest with that stupid smile of his. His laughter infected everyone around him like a goddamn disease — as soon as he started laughing, it was impossible not to laugh with him no matter how hard Eddie tried. Wherever Richie was is where Eddie wanted to be because it was where he felt loved and warm in his chest in a way that no one, not even the other Losers, could come close to. Richie made him feel... </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Safe." He whispered, squeezing his eyes shut when he felt the tale tell prick of tears at the back of them. "He makes me feel safe and stupid and brave and so fucking in love I can't even stand myself because goddammit I shouldn't ever think anyone is pretty when they wear a Hawaiian shirt but I do. He makes me feel like maybe life isn't so bad, even if it's only for the couple of days that I get to see him."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I know the unknown is scary, Eds. But don't you think that maybe it could be worth it in the end?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Goddamn Bill and his stupid way with words and how much he made sense. Whenever it was coming from his mouth, it sounded so much easier than it did in Eddie's head. "But what if it all goes wrong, Billy? What do I do if I leave Myra and I lose Richie? What do I have left then?" He hated how pathetic he sounded, like a lovestruck teen who was contemplating their first love instead of a forty-one year old man who was talking about escaping a loveless marriage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fuck you too asshole, I thought we were friends." Another tight squeeze of his hand. "If you lose Richie, which let's face it: I highly doubt you will. But if you lose Richie, you still have me. And Bev. And Ben. And Mike. And Stan. Hell, you can probably add Patty on top of it all, she's practically an honorary Loser now. You have all of us willing to catch you if you fall, you know. We aren't going to abandon you for being gay or a divorced. You wouldn't be the first of us to be either of those things."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie sighed, but this time in relief. Somehow in his panic over how it all could go wrong, he had forgotten that he had some of the best people in the world in his corner. "Thanks, Bill. I... I needed that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I could tell. You get yourself stuck in your head so often and I definitely know what that's like.” Bill poked him in the forehead playfully. “I practically lived in my head as a kid with my stutter." Bill shrugged, like he had just told him the weather instead of talking Eddie into potentially divorcing his wife. "Sometimes you just need a kick in the ass to pull you out of there." He laughed then and his blessings changed just a bit in that moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie Kaspbrak was alive against all odds. He was a wealthy business owner in New York City. Derry was nothing more than a bad nightmare at this point, all the monsters left in the past. He remembered his childhood, which, hey, that shit sucked, but it also meant he remembered the Losers Club and somehow that seemed like an even enough trade off for him. He was married to a woman, but probably not for much longer, because he had mind blowing sex fairly regularly with the love of his life who made him feel braver than he ever though possible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe he didn't have to live his life three nights at a time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was easier said than done though. Eddie felt brave in the Chinese restaurant with Bill sitting directly across from him, but he could feel that confidence wearing off the second he got back into his limo. By the time he'd gotten home from work, he was all yes ma'ams and I'm sorry's to Myra, who was upset that he didn't answer the text messages during lunch like he said he would. He had almost completely forgotten that he had felt brave at all by the time he laid down in bed next to her and let her wrap her arms around him in a suffocating embrace that made his skin crawl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A week went by and he still hadn't managed to muster up the courage to bring it up to Myra. Then another. And another. A full month passed and he hadn't been able to talk about it to anyone, not even Bill again. It made him feel more pathetic than he already had before.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Catch me on Tumblr at <a href="https://sraye96.tumblr.com/">SRaye96</a> or on twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/Raye96S">Raye96s</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 1 Night of Waiting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Eddie was sitting in his limo, waiting for a client to wrap up their dinner and demand to be taken to the nearest club, as they were so wont to do on Friday nights, when he got the text that started the chain of events that lead up to his life falling apart. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>hey eds. im in ny to host SNL. i'll be here for a week. dinner tonight? we could get spaghetti.</i></p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this chapter is significantly shorter than the rest, but the next chapter should, uh, make up for it!!!! theoretically! depending on what your definition of making up for it is!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eddie was sitting in his limo, waiting for a client to wrap up their dinner and demand to be taken to the nearest club, as they were so wont to do on Friday nights, when he got the text that started the chain of events that lead up to his life falling apart. </p><p>
  <em> hey eds. im in ny to host SNL. i'll be here for a week. dinner tonight? we could get spaghetti. </em>
</p><p>After a month of mulling over his decision to leave Myra and almost two without seeing Richie, that text message made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he really was brave enough to do it. Especially if he were to see Richie, who had always made him feel stupid and brave and loved. </p><p>
  <em> Okay. Dinner sounds good. No spaghetti though. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ur lame. see you tonight eddie baby </em>
</p><p>Of all the nicknames Richie had given him over the years, Eddie Baby was probably his least favorite, right up there with Eddie Spaghetti. He despised Eddie Spaghetti because it always made him feel like a child, even as a child, and he knew the only reason Richie loved it so much was because it rhymed and that made it even more stupid. But Eddie Baby had started out as a joke and turned into.... something Richie liked to croon in his ear in the middle of sex, which meant every time he said it to Eddie, that's all he could think about and it tended to send a very unwelcomed shiver up his spine. And despite Richie's entire personality hinging on the fact that he acted stupid, he knew exactly what he was doing and that's why he continued to do it.</p><p>He was about to respond, to pick a fight about Richie's use of nicknames and ask where they were going, when his phone rang and his limo Bluetooth display showed Myra's name. Fuck. Sighing, he accepted her call. "Edward Kaspbrak speaking."</p><p>"Eddie-Bear! I was just calling to ask you about dinner tonight. Are you sure you still want to go to that Italian place on tenth? Their portions are fine, but I worry that they make everything with too much garlic and you know that it could make you have heartburn or worse, maybe even cause an ulcer. Maybe we could go to that Greek place instead? You know Greek food is supposed to be healthier than all the other ethnic foods. And they don't use GMOs in their food, that's what the waiter told me last time I was there with my book club, so you know it's healthier." </p><p>Jesus Christ, for a minute he completely forgot that he had promised to take Myra out for dinner that night. He sighed and rested his forehead on the steering wheel, letting her continue to rant about how she would prefer the Greek restaurant on the principle of health without pausing for a response from him or a breath. While he half listened, he stared at the screen of his phone with his partially typed out message to Richie before deleting it all and typing a new one that he actually sent.</p><p>
  <em> I'm sorry, I completely forgot I had something tonight. Can we do tomorrow instead? </em>
</p><p>He must've zoned out for too long and missed a question because Myra asked, "Eddie-Bear?" </p><p>"Uh." Fuck. He scrambled to try to remember what she was talking about and sighed, settling to just give her what she wanted. "Greek is fine with me, Marty. Whatever you want."</p><p>"Oh! Wonderful. I'll see you tonight when you're off, sweetie! Drive safe. I love you!" She sounded pleasantly surprised, probably not expecting him to just agree with her. He wondered when she started to expect a fight with every conversation they had. It’s been so long that he can’t even remember.</p><p>Eddie sighed again, and then he wondered when he started that too, sighing so often. She cleared her throat and he realized she hadn't hung up like he thought, instead waiting for him to respond. "Um. I love you too, Marty." </p><p>"And don't forget to take your medicine before you eat lunch, alright? You know how bad your heartburn gets." </p><p>"Yes. Of course, dear." He stopped taking antacids before every meal after Richie caught on to what he was doing and made fun of him for it until he threw the bottle at his head and refused to take the pills after the bottle touched the dirty floor of the restaurant they were at. Of course, he never told Myra that though. "I'll see you tonight."</p><p>The phone clicked and he sighed again, then grit his teeth. It was stupid to sigh so much. His marriage was stupid and so was his life and the whole fucking mess with Richie. When did everything get to be so stupid?</p><p>His phone dinged with a response from Richie.</p><p>
  <em> okay eds.  </em>
</p><p>Stupid stupid stupid. </p><p>***</p><p>Dinner with Myra went about as well as expected, with her trying to convince him to buy into some stupid multilevel marketing scheme with candles or something that someone in her book club was pushing and getting into a fight with the waiter for bringing her salad with tomatoes in it when she asked not to have any tomatoes since she's started believing she's allergic to them apparently. It was exhausting and stupid, just like everything else in his life.</p><p>Richie didn't text him again, even after he asked if dinner the next night would work. He was probably mad at him too, with his stupid fucking luck. One of the only good things left in his life was the Losers and whatever he had with Richie, so it had only been a matter of time before he screwed up both of those too. He probably should have expected that actually.</p><p>He was pacing the floor at midnight because of a nightmare — one part memory of his mother telling him how dirty that Tozier boy was when he was probably thirteen and one part imagined horror of her talking about how he would give Eddie the gay if he didn't watch out. If only she could see him now — and he'd given up on sleeping entirely when he finally actually got a response. Instead of answering his question from hours earlier, it was a picture. He opened it without thinking while taking a sip of his water before immediately spitting it back out. Richie had sent him a picture of his dick with his hand wrapped around it, followed by the words<em> thinking about u. </em></p><p>"Jesus, Richie." He muttered, peering at the photo. Clearly it wasn't the first time seeing his dick, but it was the first time he had received a picture of it and he wasn't sure how he felt about it yet. It seemed like shitty timing, getting it almost directly after the particular nightmare he had just had, but also, fuck his mom. She hadn't been able to keep him away from Richie when she was alive and he was going to be damned if he let her do it while she wasn't. With confidence he only ever felt when Richie was involved, he pressed the call button. "Pick up the fucking phone, you piece of shit."</p><p>"Well hello to you too, Eds. Is this your attempt at dirty talk? I think you can do better." Richie sounded amused — the fucker was always amused at Eddie's expense — but he also sounded slightly out of breath. </p><p>Eddie pretended he didn't notice his cock's twitch of interest at why that might be. "Fuck you. Where is your hotel?"</p><p>"You—” Richie cut himself off with a moan, clearly louder than necessary for Eddie's benefit. "You probably wouldn't be able to make it over here before I cream my pants, man. I've been thinking about you all night." He punctuated his sentence with another moan and Eddie could imagine him throwing his head back with it, exposing the line of his throat where he loved to leave a trail of hickies. </p><p>"I hate you, you know that?" He didn't and they both knew it, but, god, if he didn't want to sometimes. </p><p>Richie just laughed. "No, you don't."</p><p>"You send me a fucking dick pic while you're in New York and now you won't even tell me where you are? Is this some game to help you get off?" Eddie was going to kill him when he found him. Or kiss him. Or both. Both sounded pretty good.</p><p>"I'm just being honest. I didn't think you would be up actually. I thought you'd just call me in the morning to yell at me or something." He laughed again at the thought. "I didn't think you would call me right now to yell at me while I jerk it. Although, feel free to keep yelling. I'm pretty sure it's, like, one of my kinks now."</p><p>"You're disgusting." For a moment, he considered telling Richie to knock it the fuck off, drive to his hotel, and fuck him properly; he decided against it and settled himself onto his couch. With Richie's panting in his ear, he shoved his pajama pants to his knees. </p><p>"Oh Eddie Baby, insult me more." It was probably supposed to be teasing, but it was so breathless that it was deliciously desperate. His cock jumped again in response and he hated that Richie had that much of an effect on him, making him act like a horny teenager and actually considering having phone sex with him while his wife was upstairs asleep. "You know I love it when you call me dirty."</p><p>Eddie snorted and took his cock into his hand, lazily stroking himself. "I can't believe I'm turned on right now. Something must be wrong with me."</p><p>"Holy shit." Richie sounded shocked, like he never actually considered the fact that Eddie was calling him because he was turned on instead of trying to track him down to kill him. "Are you about to have phone sex with me? Is that what we're doing? Eddie baby, holy fuck, I think I almost jizzed just thinking about it."</p><p>"We can't have phone sex if you fucking cum the second I pull my pants down, dipshit." His cock was fully hard and it kind of pissed him off that he was getting hard over Richie sounding so excited about the idea of phone sex. </p><p>He didn't expect the groan that Richie let out. "Fuck, we're really doing this. I should've just told you where my hotel was so I could fuck you. It would've been worth the wait."</p><p>"Too late. I'm not driving with my dick this hard." </p><p>"You're gonna kill me. What are you doing? You gonna fuck yourself on a dildo and wish it were me?"</p><p>"Do you seriously think I have a dildo lying around here?" He hissed, his hand stilling as he started to regret the entire idea. </p><p>As if it weren't bad enough, Richie, of course, had to make it worse. "Borrow one of Myra's, I'm sure she wouldn't mind."</p><p>"Fuck you, bro. I will hang up." He let go of his cock, actually considering hanging up and fucking off. </p><p>But then Richie whined, "please don't,"  and the noise went straight to Eddie's cock. "Just— Tell me what you're doing? Or just moan into the phone. Or keep talking. Fuck, I really don't care what you do, just don't hang up. Please." </p><p>"You'd have to shut the fuck up for me to get a word in." He hated that for some reason, the arguing was working, just like it always worked. He cradled his phone between his shoulder and his ear so he had both his hands free. His neck would probably hate him for it later, but it seemed worth it when he gripped his cock in one hand and shoved his other up his shirt to pinch his nipple. </p><p>"Is it fucked up that I think you telling me to shut up is hot somehow?" </p><p>"Probably." It was quiet save for both their panting and the occasional moan, until Eddie felt brave enough to say something else. "I wish I could kiss you."</p><p>"Kiss me double tomorrow to make up for it." </p><p>He chuckled. "Okay. I can do that. Maybe if you don't embarrass me too much at dinner, I'll even blow you afterward."</p><p>"I'll be on my best behavior, promise." </p><p>"You have a best behavior? Have I ever seen it?" Richie grunted and Eddie took it as a sign to keep talking. "You really did just want me to stay on the phone to talk shit to you, huh?"</p><p>"Jesus, Eds, it's basically what you do during sex too. You know that right? I don't think we've managed to get our pants off once without you yelling at me for something. I'm pretty sure my last wet dream started off with you lecturing me on the dangers of drinking expired milk."</p><p>"You have wet dreams? What are you, fifteen?"</p><p>"You don't dream about sex? Sounds fucking terrible, man."</p><p>"How are you so fucking horny all the time?"</p><p>"Have you seen your ass? Or your thighs? It should be illegal to have such a hot fucking body at your age. Fuck you, dude. Of course, I'm horny all the time." Richie's breath hitched and he started talking faster, like he always does the closer he gets to the edge. "Eds, god, you have no idea what you do to me, do you? I— Fuck." He moaned, louder than before, and Eddie knew he was almost there. "I used to jerk it to you in those stupid red shorts you wore straight through ninth grade. Do you realize how much material I have to work with now? I actually know how good it is to kiss you and to touch your dick."</p><p>Eddie figured he could help him out a little. "You're pretty good at it too. I wish I were with you. I wanna see your face when you cum, Rich. You finally shut the fuck up for once and you look so good."</p><p>"Eddie—” Richie started and cut himself off with a loud groan as he finished. He panted into the phone for a few seconds before laughing incredulously. "Fuck you. I can't believe I actually came to you telling me to shut the fuck up. That can't be normal."</p><p>"As if you've ever been anything close to normal." He shot back, speeding up his strokes. Hearing Richie finish in his ear was satisfying, but not nearly as satisfying as it would have been to have seen him, to have been the cause of it, to have watched him fall apart completely underneath Eddie’s hands. </p><p>Richie took a shuddering breath. "Fuck you, dude."</p><p>"Mm, now there's an idea." He let his eyes closed and imagined the hand on his cock was Richie's instead of his own, Richie's long fingers tugging him towards the edge. </p><p>"You want me to fuck you?" He was still floating on a high from his orgasm. It was obvious from the starstruck tone of his voice and Eddie's absolute obsession with knowing exactly what every single small change of his voice meant. "Eddie Baby, I'll bend you over this bed so fucking fast tomorrow. We can skip dinner, I'd be hard the whole time anyway. Blow off work and I'll blow you too."</p><p>Eddie groaned, half in exasperation. "I can't blow off work, Rich. I—”</p><p>"Spend all day thinking about all the things I'm going to do to you then. You sit up front in that limo of yours, it'll be fine. No one will see you if you're hard thinking about my tongue in your ass." Richie had always been good at running his mouth, so Eddie shouldn't really have been surprised that he would be good at phone sex too. Or maybe he was just way too attracted to the asshole for it to really matter what he was saying. Either way, it was definitely working for him and he peppered in a few whimpers and needy breaths to encourage Richie to keep going. "You going to think about me at work tomorrow then? About how good I make you feel? Wait— have you ever considered getting road head in that limo of yours? That actually sounds pretty fun. We should definitely try that."</p><p>He would never admit it, not in a million years, but it wasn't Richie's dirty talk that pushed him over the edge. It was the stupid way he sounded excited and completely forgot he was trying to be sexy in order to say something he knew would piss Eddie off that had him groan out Richie's name as he came. He hated that he was so weak for Richie Tozier and how much he really didn't hate it. After catching his breath for a minute, he hissed, "Fuck you. We aren't trying something so dangerous. Do you even know how likely we would get into an accident if we did that?"</p><p>"Talk statistics to me and I'll get a chub."</p><p>He realized his neck was already complaining at him, so he shifted to give it a break and grabbed his phone. "You're the worst person I've ever met."</p><p>"Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that, sweetheart." That was a new one and instantly added towards the top of the list of nicknames he hated because of the way it made his cheeks flush. </p><p>Now that the thrill of phone sex was wearing off, Eddie was coming to grips with the fact that his shirt was covered in his cum and he would have to hide it from Myra up stairs on top of the fact that he had work in the morning. "I should get to bed."</p><p>"Okay." Neither of them said goodbye or hung up though. "Fuck man, I totally just realized we should have FaceTimed so I could have seen you jack off."</p><p>"Seriously man? That trashmouth of yours sounded a lot better when I was still horny."</p><p>"You love my trashmouth."</p><p>Maybe it was the orgasm talking. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn't looking at Richie. Maybe it was the safety in knowing that he could always deny what it really meant if Richie called him on it. Whatever it was, he whispered, "Yeah, I do."</p><p>It was silent between them for too long; nothing with Richie was ever quiet, but he probably heard the other meaning to those words that Eddie had been hiding away for so long. "You should go to bed." He finally said after what could have been thirty seconds or thirty minutes. </p><p>"Yeah." Eddie replied, gripping the phone in his hand tighter. "Goodnight, Rich."</p><p>"Night, Eddie Spaghetti."</p><p>"Don't—”</p><p>"Yeah man, don't call you that, I know." He could hear the smile in his voice as the phone call ended.</p><p>Once he was left alone with his thoughts in the silence of his too big house, he wasn’t able to bask in the afterglow like he usually did in Richie’s arms. He didn’t feel relaxed and boneless, just sticky and <em> dirty </em>. He did his best to use his shirt to clean up the bulk of the mess, then mechanically walked to the guest bathroom and turned on the shower. He would have preferred to have his own soap instead of what they kept in there for guests that they never actually had, but he didn’t want to risk waking Myra if he showered in their bathroom.</p><p>While he waited for the water to heat up, he scrolled through his phone mindlessly to pass the time and keep his brain from circling about how dirty he felt. There wasn’t much there to keep his attention and he ended up just clicking through his text messages. When he got to Richie’s and the picture of his dick lit up his screen, he stared at it for longer than he should. They were in their forties goddammit, weren’t they too old to be doing things like sexting and having phone sex? It didn’t stop him from saving the photo, but it did make him feel a fuck ton of guilt and shame over it. </p><p>He abandoned his phone on the counter to rush to the shower after that, but the water was still too cold. He turned it up more, shivering as he waited for it to warm up. It goes from fucking freezing to scalding in a matter of seconds and he jumped back instinctively from the sting on his skin, but he doesn't turn it back down when he put himself back under the stream of water. Maybe if it's hot enough, it can burn away the disgusting mixture of betrayal and ecstasy that has settled into his bones. </p><p>Getting off with Richie while his wife slept upstairs, in their bed, in their house, in New York, somehow crossed a line that he didn't even know he had made for himself. This line was something further than the line he crossed two months ago by going into Richie's apartment for the first time. It made him sick to his stomach because he couldn't believe how selfish he was. </p><p>He had a wife upstairs but he wanted a man halfway across the city. He wanted his best friend more than anything in the world, but he was too fucking scared to leave the safety of his controlling wife to commit to him fully. He promised one of his oldest friends to work on getting out of the fucked up situation, but he hasn't made any sort of progress since. He had a wife, a best friend turned lover, and better friends than most people ever dared to hope for, and yet he had the fucking nerve to feel lonely in that moment. </p><p>What the fuck was wrong with him?</p><p>That was so much of a loaded fucking question he couldn't handle cracking it open, so instead he started cleaning. He scrubbed under the burning water, harder and harder, as if he could scrub the very thoughts out of existence. His skin was tinged pink from the heat, but it quickly took on more of a red hue as he scrubbed. It should have hurt and he knew it, but it was already stinging from the heat so he barely felt it. </p><p>He ran out of skin to abuse faster than he ran out of thoughts. He should have gotten out of the shower when he was clean, and he was about to, when the idea of laying next to Myra crossed his mind. It made his stomach roll and somehow he didn't feel clean in the slightest, even though he had just meticulously and aggressively washed each inch of his body. So he sat down in the shower, hoping that his anxiety would go down the drain along with the water. </p><p>It didn't work and he still felt like shit when he got out of the shower. He dried himself quickly, then hid his jizz soaked clothes in the middle of the clothes hamper — the bottom would be too easy to see when she pulled the clothes out for the wash, but the top was too obvious. He would try to do the laundry in the morning if he could and try to pass it off as a harmless attempt to help her around the house. She would probably give him a strange look, but she wasn't likely to question it too much. </p><p>Fuck, he was an asshole. Myra didn't deserve to be treated like that. <em> Richie </em> didn't deserve to be treated like that. The only one who deserved to be in such a fucked up situation was Eddie and he was dragging them all down with him. </p><p>Fuck him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Catch me on Tumblr at <a href="https://sraye96.tumblr.com/">SRaye96</a> or on twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/Raye96S">Raye96s</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. When Time Runs Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It didn’t seem all that important if anyone did notice him anyway. Nothing seemed that important anymore now that it was all downhill from there.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm so sorry this is so late. I have no excuse other than the fact that tbh now that I'm not going to work because of lay offs, I have no real clue what day it even is right now. It's 7.5k tho so hopefully that makes up for the lateness and the fact that the last chapter was so short!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Richie was unfortunately right. Eddie <em> did </em> spend all day at work thinking about him, but, really, that wasn't very unusual. He spent a lot of his idle time thinking about him and his stupid big hands and stupid broad shoulders and his stupid crooked smile. They had plans to go to dinner —  the Italian place that Eddie was going to take Myra the night prior — that he totally didn't pick just because Richie kept mentioning spaghetti. Whatever, he definitely wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that's where they were going all day. Then, he lied to Myra about having a work dinner with an investor that may turn into drinks like the piece of shit he is. </p><p>While waiting on his last client of the day — some famous rich asshole who had their agent book the drive so he wasn't actually sure who he was picking up — he risked pulling his phone out to text Bill. He'd been avoiding him all month, too embarrassed to admit that he was not nearly as brave as his oldest friend thought he was.</p><p>
  <em> Richie is in town. I miss the rest of the Losers. We should meet up soon. All of us.  </em>
</p><p>He wasn't brave enough to keep looking at his phone though, so he tossed it into the other seat out of his reach so that he didn't have to see his response. Just in time too because the back door to his limo opened and a tall man slid in the back and— </p><p>"What the fuck are you doing in my limo?" He asked before realizing that another person was sliding in after Richie and that was completely unprofessional. </p><p>The second man's eyebrows shot up in surprise, every bit as expressive as Richie was. He was a reasonably attractive guy, probably in his early thirties with thick hair and smile lines and sun kissed skin and Eddie fought down the viscous feeling of jealousy in the pit of his stomach. That guy looked like he belonged in California with Richie in a way Eddie would never be able to. "You talk to all your clients like that? It's a miracle you're still in business." He needed to control his mouth before it got him a terrible review from whoever that guy was, but how was he supposed to focus on anything else with Richie so close?</p><p>"Oh Eddie Spaghetti, did I not tell you that you were driving me today? Must've slipped my mind." Eddie could see his grin in the rearview mirror and it made his blood boil. </p><p>"Fuck you dude, you totally did that on purpose!" It was going to be a miracle if they got out of the car with Eddie hitting Richie, which was also extremely unprofessional, but it was hard to remember to be professional when he was looking at those stupid blue eyes he loved so much.</p><p>He cackled in response and Eddie was thinking about crawling through the small space between the divider to hit him right then, but he knew as soon as he got back there he would end up kissing him instead. "I absolutely did that on purpose, Eds. I wanted to surprise you! I know you missed me." </p><p>"Who would ever miss that trashmouth of yours?" He grumbled, gripping the steering wheel tighter. He missed that mouth constantly and they both knew it. </p><p>"Your mom, she was begging me to come over last night." He looked so damn proud of himself for that one before he added, "May she rest in peace, of course. Sonia was the first love of my life, after all."</p><p>"Can you please stop making jokes about my mom? They weren't funny when we were eleven and she was alive and they still aren't funny now that we're forty and she’s dead, dipshit." Apparently he'd just thrown all professionalism out the window at the sight of Richie. His trashmouth must be contagious. </p><p>Richie was laughing too hard to answer, so the other man interrupted. "So you guys know each other? Is that why you asked me to book you a limo for the first time in your career, Rich?" He must be his manager then. Eddie hadn't heard much about him since Richie only ever wanted to talk about the fun parts of his job, like making fun of people on stage, but he figured he could probably get away with a lot more than if it had been some big wig in show business. It was just <em> Richie </em> , for fuck’s sake <em> . </em></p><p>"Good god, do you pay him to call you Rich so you can feel like an actual adult at work? That might actually be the first funny thing you've ever done in your life, you hack." </p><p>"Fuck you, bro. I am hysterical."</p><p>"You've been telling the same jokes since you were nine and figured out what your dick was. You are easily the least funny Loser."</p><p>"I am at least more funny than Ben. Or Stan. Definitely at least Stan. He made a bird pun and laughed at it for, like, ten minutes once."</p><p>"Excuse me, can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?" His manager cut in before Eddie could argue that he also thought that bird pun was funny.</p><p>Richie seemed to remember that he was there for the first time since he got into the limo. "Oh. Right. Eds, this is Jason. He's my manager and the only reason I ever show up to shit on time—”</p><p>"I believe that."</p><p>“— Fuck you. Jason, this is Eddie Spaghetti—”</p><p>"I swear to fucking god, Richie—”</p><p>“—my childhood best friend and my greatest supporter. He thinks I'm funny, don't let him fool you." </p><p>Jason looked between the two of them for a moment before sticking his hand up front to shake Eddie's. "Rich talks about you a lot, Eddie. It's nice to finally meet you."</p><p>Eddie gripped his hand and gave him a tight smile, but as soon as he let go, he glared at Richie through the rearview mirror. "Don't fucking talk about me. I don't trust you."</p><p>"That's fair, you probably shouldn't." Jason laughed. "Well, if you can just take me back to my hotel, I can let you guys get to dinner. It's the Hyatt on thirteenth."</p><p>"Sounds good, man!" Richie answered for him. The two of them began talking about how they thought whatever meeting they had just come out of went while Eddie started sweating up front. How much did Jason know? What had Richie been saying about him? Should he be worried? Luckily, they didn't seem to notice since he pulled out onto the road and drove calmly. At least outwardly calm because the inside of his head was in complete turmoil. It was another ten minutes before Richie finally addressed him again. "Dude, okay, I've been in the car with you before. I don't know how you do it."</p><p>"Do what?" He asked from between grit teeth. The jealousy had reared its head in his stomach again among his panicked questions running through his mind. He wasn't used to having to share Richie's attention, even around the Losers around, which was stupid because he wasn't a teenager anymore. He should be able to handle Richie talking to his manager in front of him, but for some reason it rubbed him wrong. Maybe because he recognized how attractive Jason was and how much easier Richie's life would be to date someone like that, someone in the same city and not afraid to be seen with him. Maybe he was just being petty. He settled on a bit of both. </p><p>"That." Richie gestured at him in the front seat vaguely, as if that explained everything. "You have the worst road rage of anyone I've ever met. How do you just turn it off while you drive this limo? One time you threatened to fight some old lady because she cut you off—”</p><p>"She would have deserved it too."</p><p>"—Absolutely, but like, how do you just not yell all day at work?" He asked while he leaned forward to fold his arms and rest them on the divider between them. </p><p>"It's like the Hulk. I'm always angry. I just keep it inside at work." Eddie shrugged. Usually his clients wanted him to be silent while he drove them, so it wasn't like he could very well scream "Fuck you!" at every idiot on the road with him like he would want to. It sucked, but at least he got it out when he didn’t have clients in the car with him.</p><p>Richie snickered. "Fucking Marvel fan. No taste in this limo tonight, guys."</p><p>"I'm sorry you have fucking terrible taste and think Superman is a well written character. I will throw you out of my limo if you start trying to talk shit about Marvel comics though so watch it, Trashmouth."</p><p>"Not my fault you don't enjoy the best of the best like Batman, man."</p><p>"Batman is arguably one of the only characters worth a shit from DC. Which, fuck you very much, you used to steal my Batman comics—”</p><p>"They were Bill's! Your mom would never have let you buy those violent comic books—”</p><p>"They were mine! I gave Bill my money to buy them and you stole them and spilled, fucking, disgusting mac and cheese on them—”</p><p>"Oh my god I forgot you hated mac and cheese so much. That is so funny. I'm totally ordering it at the restaurant—”</p><p>"Do not order fucking mac and cheese at a nice restaurant, You aren't a child—” </p><p>"You're right. I have to order the spaghetti, don't I, Eddie Spaghetti—” </p><p>"Oh my fucking god, that’s it. I'm pulling this limo over and kicking your ass—” </p><p>"Try me, Eds. I'm scrappy—” </p><p>"I fucking hate you—” </p><p>They both stopped when they heard Jason laughing at them. "I should put the two of you on one of those couple's shows. I feel like it might be the funniest thing to ever be on a gameshow."</p><p>"Hardy har har, Jason. Eds would never be caught dead on anything that would insinuate we were a couple. Plus his wife might have something to say about that." Richie waved him off as he slid back into his seat to talk to him again. He sounded nonchalant and it kind of stung to be dismissed so easily.</p><p>Eddie tried not to think about how he wanted Richie to pay attention to him again after only thirty seconds. He tried even harder not to think about the jealousy running rampant in his stomach and how it was something he had never once felt about Myra. But most of all, he really didn't want to think about the dark look on Richie's face when he had stamped out any doubt of Jason knowing the true nature of their relationship by talking about Myra. </p><p>The rest of the drive went by agonizingly slowly. Jason and Richie talked about business and then about things they wanted to do in New York before they headed back to LA and then they were sharing jokes that Eddie didn't get. It sucked and it hurt and he couldn't stop being jealous about a man that was just a coworker. Even if he was more, did Eddie have a right to be jealous? He was fucking <em> married </em> after all. </p><p>It made him think about how Richie must feel, knowing Eddie always leaves him to go home to his wife, and how much worse that had to be than his stupid petty jealousy over Richie's friendly banter with his manager. He was so stuck in his own head that he barely registered Jason's goodbye as he got out of the car. </p><p>"Can I sit up front?" Richie asked, hand already on the door like he knew what Eddie was going to say. He might, actually. They both knew that Eddie would probably talk shit but let him do it anyway because he always let Richie do what he wanted. </p><p>He opened his mouth to follow the script like usual, but something stopped him, so instead of a scathing remark, he just nodded. "Sure."</p><p>It caught Richie off guard, but the smile that spread across his face was a million times better than the banter that probably would have followed. Fuck, he was whipped for that stupid smile. Richie threw himself out of the door and ran around the front of the limo like an excited kid, even tripping off the curb and stumbling a bit in his rush. It was adorable and Eddie groaned when he realized he thought anything a man their age did was adorable. </p><p>Richie bounced into his seat, grinning. "Let's go, Eduardo!"</p><p>"Put your fucking seatbelt on." But he was grinning too, infected by Richie's smile. </p><p>The restaurant was close, so the drive wasn't long. He parked in a parking garage even though it was a bit out of the way, just to ensure no one would get near his limo to damage it. It was a bit earlier than they had planned on, but that was fine. Richie could eat more than any one person ought to be able to and Eddie had skipped lunch to nap in his car since he hadn't slept for shit after he hung up the night before. </p><p>It was a rather small restaurant tucked away that Eddie had found with Beverly when she had last visited New York and quickly became one of his favorite places. He wasn't even sure if he liked the food that much or if it was just because so far he had only been there with the Losers when they were in town so it was just full of good memories, untainted by the sad life he actually lived in New York when they weren't there. He supposed it was a blessing in disguise that Myra had demanded to go to a different restaurant the night before so it stayed that way. </p><p>They were seated immediately thanks to the reservations Eddie had called in. Richie ordered a bottle of wine like he was a wine connoisseur and didn't just drink shitty boxed wine at home, which had Eddie laughing when he pronounced the name wrong and the waitress corrected him gently. After ordering their food — he ordered the spaghetti himself, just to make Richie snort a laugh into his wine — and downing a glass of wine, he was feeling looser in New York than he had since Bill had been there. Richie kept making him laugh and looking damn smug about it every time, but he couldn't bring himself to care for once. Let him look smug; the bastard was funny! He would never say that out loud because that would be an ego boost that Richie most certainly did not need, but he could admit it to himself in the safety of his own head. </p><p>When their salads came out, Richie roped the waitress into a joke that left all three of them in near tears before she had to leave to check on other customers. He silently picked out all of the croutons out of his and dumped them onto Eddie's plate because he "hated crunchy bread". When he asked him why he didn't just ask for them not to be added, he shrugged. "It doesn't seem worth the trouble, you know? Plus you like them."</p><p>Eddie stared down at his own salad and tried not to cry over some fucking croutons. It was such a vastly different experience from his dinner with Myra that he wasn't sure how to process it, so he shoved an entirely too big bite in his mouth so that he didn't say something stupid, like I love you. It was getting harder not to say it every time he saw Richie because of how true it was, especially since Bill had brought it up to his attention that he had never really loved anyone but Richie. He caught himself almost saying it on all their phone calls in the last month; not even as a huge confession, but rather just a plain response to whatever ridiculous story Richie had finished. </p><p>By the time they had finished eating, Richie had bought them another two bottles of wine to split and they drank them dry. He insisted on footing the bill, claiming he was rich or something, which was stupid because they were both rich. But Eddie allowed it because he knew Richie loved giving things to people. Then they stumbled their way back to the limo, both more intoxicated than they should be to get behind the wheel. </p><p>"Wanna make out in the back like teenagers to sober up some?" Richie asked, slinging an arm around Eddie's shoulders while they both stared at the car, trying to decide their next move.</p><p>He should say no, on the principle of things, but instead he considered the tinting of his windows. Satisfied that he couldn't see into them from where they stood, he shrugged. "Sure." Richie let out a whoop of excitement before yanking the door open and shoving Eddie in. "Fuck you!" He hissed as his elbow bumped into the door. He ended up sprawled on the floor of the limo while Richie slammed the door shut and climbed on top of him.</p><p>"Yeah, man, that's kinda the idea." </p><p>He wasn't given a chance to respond because Richie was kissing him then, pressing his back against the ground. He knew he should probably be upset that they were on the floor where his clients put their shoes and who knew what they stepped in in a dirty city like New York, but it was hard to think about that when Richie kissed him so sweetly. It wasn't the rushed and sloppy make out he had expected, but something tender and slow, like he had all the time in the world. It was something they rarely indulged in, because they didn't have all the time in the world, not even close to it; usually they only had three nights at the most. Tonight they had even less.</p><p>Richie shifted to straddle him so he could put his weight on his legs, leaving his hands free to cradle Eddie's face like he was something precious. He couldn't stand it, the way that his heart was pounding in his chest like it was fighting for a way to get out and throw itself into Richie's hands. It felt like there wasn't a chance to catch his breath, but not in the way his panic attacks burned his chest. It was like his body craved Richie more than air, so breathing was only a secondary worry at the moment. His head was spinning and he wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the lack of air, or just the unintended side effects of <em> Richie </em>.</p><p>After a few minutes, Richie pulled away and he chased him stupidly, propping himself up onto an elbow to try to keep kissing him for as long as possible. Richie laughed when he finally managed to escape Eddie's lips. "You're so cute. Cute cute cute." He punctuated each 'cute' with another quick kiss. </p><p>"I'm forty-one years old. I stopped being cute a long time ago." He murmured, closing his eyes as Richie dragged his blunt nails against his scalp. </p><p>Richie tugged his hair sharply and Eddie fought down a whine that still managed to escape his lips. “You are cute though.”</p><p>"Shut up." He huffed, trying to sound put off instead of turned on. He missed the mark entirely. He might as well have said <em> take me now.  </em></p><p>Richie placed a soft kiss on the side of his neck. "Cute cute cute." He breathed against his skin. </p><p>A shiver ran down Eddie's spine. "I'm not having sex with you in this fucking limo." </p><p>"Sure, you aren't." Richie sat back on his heels and grinned down at Eddie. "I was promised a blow job for being on good behavior though."</p><p>He did promise that, didn't he? Eddie sighed. "Fine."</p><p>Apparently, Richie was expecting more of a fight because his eyebrows shot up high on his forehead. "Wait, are you serious? I was just kid— oh fuck yeah, Eddie Spaghetti."</p><p>"Don't call me that while my mouth is on your dick or I'll bite it off, you asshole." He started pushing Richie, who was all too happy to follow his lead, off his lap and onto the seat. </p><p>Richie nodded. "Aye aye captain." After some rearranging — and some laughing on Richie's part — he settled himself on his knees in front of Richie.</p><p>"Can we have sex once without you making a stupid joke?" Eddie unbuttoned Richie's pants and shimmied them down to his knees. It was as unsexy as it could have been, but Richie didn't seem to mind, too busy staring at Eddie with unbridled affection.</p><p>He shook his head. "You like my stupid jokes." Eddie hated that he was right. He didn't have a snappy answer to that, so he leaned forward and mouthed at Richie's half hard cock through his boxers. "Oh fuck, Eds, I've been thinking about this all day."</p><p>It was probably stupid to get satisfaction out of that, but he did. A part of him hoped it was true, because maybe then it would be okay that he'd been spending his days thinking of Richie too. He imagined Richie thinking about his mouth in a meeting, sitting next to Jason and getting hard over Eddie. Actually, that was a lot hotter than it should have been and he moaned while he slipped the tip of Richie's clothed cock between his lips. </p><p>"Eddie baby, please don't tease me. I've been thinking about this all day, come on. Please." Hearing Richie say please, so needy and desperate, made his own cock twitch in his pants. It was ridiculous that his cock seemed to be hardwired to respond to the sounds of Richie’s voice, but it was. As much as Eddie loved to kiss him, he loved hearing him too, making it hard for him to decide which to do half the time. </p><p>He pulled back, just enough to yank down his boxers and free Richie’s cock. It bounced against his stomach before settling. He could feel Richie's thighs tense underneath his hands when he pressed a featherlight kiss to the tip and he liked that, so he decided he would get away with teasing just a little bit more. He swirled his tongue over the head and had to bite back a smirk at the stream of curses that came out of Richie's mouth. He'd never been a very patient man, but something about the way Richie was begging made him want to drag it out for as long as possible. </p><p>He wrapped his lips around the tip and Richie whimpered. It was such a wonderful sound, especially when he followed it with panting out another, "<em> Please </em>, Eds." As much as he wanted to make him beg more, he never had been good at telling Richie no, so he sunk down slowly, taking as much of his cock into his mouth as he could. "Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, Eddie." Richie hissed as he slid back up to just the tip in his mouth and went back down again, able to go down further this time. After a few tries, he managed to take his whole cock and swallow around it. Richie's legs shook at that, making him rather proud of himself for half a second before a hand was tangling itself into his hair and pulling him off. "Fuck I'm gonna cum in like two seconds if you keep moving. Give me a second."</p><p>"What?" Eddie asked and Richie shuddered at how wrecked his voice sounded after only a few minutes. "You're seriously like a fucking teenager."</p><p>"Dude, you don't get to say that. Anyone would jizz fast if they had the boy of their dreams blowing them in the back of his super fancy work limo." Richie dropped his head back on the seat and squeezed his eyes shut, like that might help him stave off his impending orgasm. </p><p>Eddie snorted a laugh. "Whatever. You'll have time to recover while I drive to your hotel. Let me finish. I didn't promise a fucking time limit or anything on this."</p><p>"I wanna enjoy it though!" Richie let go of his hair while he complained and Eddie took advantage of the freedom to take his cock back into his mouth, sinking as far as he could and swallowing down around him quickly. "Oh<span>—</span> Fuck! Man, you suck. Haha get it?" Eddie flipped him off without pulling away, which Richie didn't seem to mind because he grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers together. "I'm seriously gonna finish in like six seconds, just warning you." Eddie swallowed again before pulling back to just the tip in his mouth and swirling his tongue over the tip. "Shit. Fuck. I— Eddie baby, I'm—” Eddie took that as a sign to take as much of his cock into his mouth as he could before Richie groaned and finished in his mouth — or more accurately, down his throat. The first time he'd given Richie a blow job, it had surprised him to the point of gagging on it and spitting it out, to which Richie made fun of him endlessly. He had gotten a lot more practice since and swallowed it down easily, pulling off Richie's cock as slowly as possible. </p><p>Eddie rested his cheek against his knee and stared up at Richie. He was slumped against the seat, boneless, with his head leaned back, his mouth dropped open and his eyes closed. He was quiet, like he always was after an orgasm, and he looked absolutely wrecked and so very beautiful, which was another thing Eddie didn't think should be used to describe forty year old men, but he couldn't think of a better word. "How are you doing up there?" He asked cheekily, smirking up at Richie when his eyes finally cracked open. </p><p>"Fan-fucking-tastic. This was the best idea I've ever had." He smiled at Eddie and made grabby hands at him like a fucking toddler. "Come up here. I wanna kiss ya."</p><p>He rolled his eyes because of how stupid he looked, but he complied easily enough, slipping into his lap after pulling Richie's boxers and pants back up for him. Richie was smiling up at him and he was so fucking beautiful, Eddie cradled his face in his hands and leaned in for a kiss. It was soft and sweet and slow, just like before, and it made his heart ache with how much he fucking<em> loved </em> Richie. It was one of the most perfect moments they had shared.</p><p>So, of course his phone rang at that moment. They pulled away from each other with a groan, both unhappy with the interruption, but it was even worse when he caught sight of the name on the screen of his Bluetooth connection in the front of the car. Myra was calling to ruin his happy moment. What was new? </p><p>"Ignore it." Richie said and Eddie looked back at him to see him pouting. It would have been cute if it weren't also infuriating. </p><p>Eddie sighed and reached for his phone. "You know I can't do that." </p><p>"Why the fuck not? Didn't you tell her you were busy or something?" Fucker had the nerve to glare at Eddie like he had asked his wife to fuck everything up</p><p>"Because if I do, she'll just call until I pick up."</p><p>Richie rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Answer it then."</p><p>He wanted to snap back at him, to pick a fight and keep his attention on him instead of Richie glaring at the phone in Eddie's hand, but he pressed answer instead. As soon as he got the phone up to his ear and said "Edward Kaspbrak speaking", he realized it was still connected to the car because Myra's voice boomed from the car speakers. "Eddie-Bear, where are you? I know you said you were going to dinner tonight but you never came home beforehand so I got worried. I texted you at least ten times and you haven't responded to me. What's going on? Did you get hurt?"</p><p>"I'm fine. I just went straight to dinner from driving my last client because it went later than I thought. I'm still here, so I can't talk long—” He was honestly surprised he got in as many words as he did before she cut him off. </p><p>"Well, that's fine, but you still need to answer your phone. This is just like the other day when you ignored me for that writer friend of yours, Bill. You make me worry so much when you do that." Eddie watched Richie's face as she talked. It was mostly neutral until a flash of some dark emotion — Disgust? Anger? Was that fucking <em> jealousy </em>? — that passed over his face at Bill's name. He didn't know what that meant and he didn't like it. "I can't help that I worry so much, you're just so delicate and I can't stand the idea of something happening to you when I'm not there to help you." Richie definitely looked disgusted now and Eddie must have taken too long staring at him to respond. "Eddie-Bear?"</p><p>"Yeah, I know, Marty. I'll talk to you at home, alright? I've got to go. I don't want to be ru—” he sighed as his word was cut off. </p><p>Myra blew through his sentence like he hadn't even said anything. "When do you think you'll be home? I know you said you may stay out for drinks, but you know I don't like you driving at night. It's not safe."</p><p>"I know. I'll keep you updated."</p><p>"You should try to come home soon before it gets too dark, okay?"</p><p>"I'll try."</p><p>"And make sure you take your medicine for your heartburn!" </p><p>"Okay, goodbye."</p><p>He hung up, refusing to look up at Richie. He didn't have to because his phone immediately started ringing again and it didn't take a genius to figure out who was calling again. He wanted to take Richie's advice and ignore it, but he couldn't. He knew she would just keep calling until he answered. </p><p>"Edward Kaspbrak speaking."</p><p>"You didn't say I love you like you usually do." Richie's grip on his hips tightened and he tried not to read into why that was. </p><p>"Myra, I—”</p><p>"Just say I love you, Eddie." She whined. </p><p>He cringed, still looking anywhere but at Richie. "I love you, Myra. I'll see you at home."</p><p>"I love you too! Goodbye, Eddie-Bear." The phone clicked and he sighed, letting it fall out of his hand. </p><p>Eddie buried his face in his hands, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before exhaling it all out in a huff, sliding his hands up into his hair and tugging on the strands. He'd read somewhere that it helped to relieve stress and honestly, he would try just about anything to make himself less stressed, but usually he ended up just pulling out some hair, which probably wasn’t helping anything. He was surprised he hadn't given himself a heart attack yet with how high his stress levels had been his entire life. Finally, he dropped his hands into his lap and opened his eyes to see Richie frowning at him. </p><p>"You need to be in therapy." He said without offering anything else. Normally he said it like a joke, but if it was that time, it fell flat. He looked too angry for it to sound like anything but a genuine suggestion. Eddie shrugged and chewed at his lip, wondering how he could possibly salvage the night. Richie was clearly mad about something more than just Myra on the phone, but he wasn't sure what it was. Something to do with Bill? How could that possibly be worse than Myra? Before he could pry to find out, Richie got straight into the heart of it and asked, "So you saw Bill recently?"</p><p>"What? Yeah? He came into town and it had been so long since I'd seen him so we grabbed lunch. Why?" There was no reason he could think of for Richie to be more mad about Bill than Myra and he let his confusion bleed into his words. </p><p>Richie looked down at his lips instead of his eyes and shrugged. "Just weird that you can tell your wife you're spending time with Bill Denbrough but not me."</p><p>"Seriously, Rich? I met Bill for one lunch."</p><p>"Yeah and you blew off your wife for him apparently, but not me?" He let go of Eddie's hips and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He looked like a pouting toddler, blaming Eddie for eating his last fucking cookie or something equally as stupid that kids worry about instead of a grown adult. </p><p>Eddie tried to keep his tone calm, knowing that Richie was actually upset, but it was hard. Richie's specialty always had been getting under his skin, after all. "I saw Bill for maybe an hour, sandwiched between two clients. I've already been with you here in New York more than I was with him. What's the big deal?"</p><p>"What's the big... Eddie, seriously? Are you fucking kidding me?" The arm crossing didn't last long; Richie talked with his hands too much and especially when he was angry. "Do you really not see anything fucked up about this situation? You literally won't even tell your wife we're friends but its fine to fuck off and go on a lunch date with Bill? You didn't even tell me you saw Bill!"</p><p>He officially gave up on trying to play nice and glared at Richie. "I didn't think I had to tell you everything. Fuck off, man." </p><p>"No, you fuck off. Get off me." </p><p>Eddie opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn't think of anything to say. They fought constantly, it was kind of their thing to fill the silence with playful shit talk and teasing jabs, but nothing like that, never actually angry with each other. He shut his mouth dumbly and slid off Richie's lap into the seat next to him, worrying at his lip again. Richie zipped up and buttoned his pants, adjusting himself and Eddie realized he was going for the door. "What are you—”</p><p>"I'm going back to my hotel. I'll see you later, or something." Richie grabbed the handle and Eddie instinctively grabbed his arm, which he jerked back of his grip. At least he let go of the handle, even if it was to turn and sneer at Eddie. "Look, Eddie, I—”</p><p>"Don't call me that." He murmured, dropping his gaze down to his lap. </p><p>Richie sighed. "What the fuck am I supposed to call you, then? You tell me that no matter what I call you, man. I'm starting to think you don't even fucking like me at all."</p><p>"Don't be stupid, Rich. You're my best friend."</p><p>"Is that what I am?" He asked with a laugh. "Do you fuck all of your friends? Do you fuck Bill when he comes to see you?"</p><p>"What the fuck, Richie? Bill's married—”</p><p>"So are you!" He yelled back and threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "You realize that, right? You're fucking married and we fuck every time we're together."</p><p>"Yeah, but—”</p><p>Richie cut him off like the asshole he was. "But what?"</p><p>"It's different, Richie!" He couldn't hold back his anger anymore and shouted back at Richie. </p><p>"Yeah, I guess it is." Richie wasn't yelling anymore and that was scary because he was still angry by the look on his face. "Because Bill isn't a dirty fucking secret like I am."</p><p>Eddie's jaw dropped. "What— what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"</p><p>Richie was about to respond but Eddie's phone dinged with a notification and he sighed, throwing a hand out to that. "Shouldn't you answer that? Don't want Myra getting upset again." Eddie looked between the phone and Richie before sighing and grabbing it. His screen was lit up with a text from Bill.</p><p>
  <em> I miss you too, Eds. I love you man. </em>
</p><p>Richie took one look at it and laughed. "Yeah, sure, it's different. Because Bill gets to call you Eds and you don't tell him to fuck off. You tell Myra about Bill  instead of making hima dirty fucking secret that no one is allowed to know about. Because you actually like Bill and fucking tell him you love him when you can't even tell me that we're anything more than fucking friends." He grabbed the door handle again and this time Eddie didn't stop him from pushing the door open. "I can't fucking do this anymore, man. I can't. I love you, Eddie, but I can't fucking keep being second best to everyone in your life. It hurts too much."</p><p>"Richie, I—” After all the times he had almost said those three words to Richie, the one time he wanted so desperately to actually say them, they got stuck in his throat. His breath got caught there too and he watched as Richie climbed out of the car. </p><p>Richie shook his head. "It's fine. You don't have to lie to me. I get it. I'm not Bill and I'm not your wife. I don't get to love you out in the open. But I can't keep doing this, Eddie. I can't." He turned away from the car and started walking away. Eddie wanted to chase him and tell him how much he really did love him and how he wanted to leave his wife for him but he couldn't because he was so fucking scared of what could happen when everything goes wrong. Because it would, eventually. It always does. </p><p>But he didn't. He stayed in the back of his car and watched as Richie finally did what he always knew he would — and should — have done; he got smart and left Eddie Kaspbrak in the dust because Richie deserved so much better than a guy with as many issues as him. Once he had rounded the corner and was out of Eddie's sight, it finally hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. That was it. No more California trips, no more mind-blowing sex, no more affair. No more late night phone calls after his nightmares, no more lazy kisses in the morning, no more cuddling during movies. No more Richie. </p><p>As soon as he realized he was crying, he scrambled to yank the door shut before a sob tore its way out of his chest. It wasn't much better that way, he was sure that people could hear him if they were on the same floor of the parking garage, but at least no one could see him completely falling apart. He was only vaguely concerned about that anyway because breathing was a much more pressing issue as his chest grew tighter and his throat closed up almost entirely. It felt like he was trying to breathe through a straw, never getting enough air to his lungs no matter how deeply he breathed in between the sobs wracking his body. He wasn't sure if it was a panic attack or just from crying and to be frank, he didn't care. He deserved whatever it was because he was an asshole who took for granted the best thing in his life and couldn't even say the three fucking words that he knew were more true than anything else.</p><p>He let himself fall onto the seat and curl in on himself, like if he made himself smaller that would somehow make the hurt smaller too. It didn't work; it still felt like he was falling apart in the backseat of his own stupid limo, so he wrapped his arms around himself in a pathetic attempt to physically hold himself together. He didn't know how long he laid there for, crying and wheezing and desperately wishing for it all to be some stupid nightmare he would wake up from and call Richie to talk about. </p><p>After a few minutes, he realized he was having a panic attack and he blindly dug around his center console for his aspirator. A voice in the back of his head reminded him that he didn't need it but that voice sounded like Richie so he ignored it because he didn't have it in him to add to the pain he was already feeling. As soon as his fingers closed around the familiar plastic of his aspirator, he yanked it free and crammed it into his mouth, triggering it off once, twice, then a third time just for safety. It helped ease the tightness in his chest, but not nearly as much as he had hoped. His eyes pricked with fresh tears and he tried to swallow around the lump that had settled into his throat, but gave up when it hurt too bad. </p><p>Everything fucking hurt and everything was fucking stupid and Eddie should've just died down in the sewers under Derry to save everyone the stupid fucking trouble of dealing with him. </p><p>That thought came and he lurched for his phone. All he wanted to do was talk to Richie — really, when did he want to do anything but talk to Richie or be with him or just near him? — but he knew he couldn't do that anymore, so he settled for the only other person he truly trusted with the shittiest parts of himself. Which was funny, seeing as he was also somehow part of the reason Eddie was currently falling apart. </p><p>He opened the text message Bill sent him and thought about texting back, but his hand shook so bad unlocking his phone that he decided against it, mashing the call button instead. When the phone rang through the car, he jumped, despite the fact that he already knew it was connected still, and then he let out a stream of curses that usually only Richie ever heard his string together. </p><p>“Well hello to you too, Eds.” Bill laughed good-naturedly through the car speakers. He picked up after the second ring and god bless him for it because Eddie was already about to hang up and forget the whole thing. He deserved what was happening to him anyway.</p><p>He opened his mouth to say something — a hello would be a good start, but the words he was shooting for were closer to “I’ve fucked everything up so horribly I don’t think I can fix them anymore and I’m not even really sure what I did”. What actually came out was another sob and he clapped a hand over his mouth to smother it as soon as it came. </p><p>“Eddie? What’s wrong?” Bill wasn’t laughing now. He sounded worried and somehow that made all of it worse. <em>They should have let you die down there. </em>He hated how much it sounded like his mother, but that wasn’t quite right either. It was some weird chimera of his own voice, his mother’s, and Myra’s. “Eddie, come on, man. You’re freaking me out. I need you to use your words.”</p><p>“I fucked up.” He managed to squeeze the words out of his throat, despite how fast it was closing up again. <em> You deserve this. </em></p><p>Bill sighed. “Where are you?”</p><p><em> You’re just forcing your problems on everyone else. </em>“In my limo in a parking garage halfway across the city from my house.” He barked out a watery laugh at how stupid it sounded and then cringed at how crazy the noise was.</p><p>“Wha— why? Who’s with you?” He asked.  </p><p>“Nobody.” <em> That’s how it should be. You don’t deserve any of them, least of all Richie </em>. </p><p>Bill inhaled sharply. “Isn’t Richie in town? Where is he?” He wanted to respond, he really did. It was just that, when he opened his mouth, the only thing that came out was another sob. A discordant chorus of <em> it’s all your fault </em> trampled over itself in his head, the words repeating over and over so fast that his head was spinning with it. “Eddie... It’s alright. Let it out. Talk to me when you’re ready, okay?” Bill’s voice was so soothing that it managed to cut through the rampant chaos in his head. </p><p>Eddie pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them and sobbed. He didn’t try muffling it or holding it back anymore; he just let out all the pain and worry and anger and sadness. No one could see him and the only person who could hear him was Bill, but he’d been through worse with Eddie and still stuck around. It didn’t seem all that important if anyone did notice him anyway. Nothing seemed that important anymore now that it was all downhill from there.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this is unimportant in the grand scheme of things but its important to ME that you all know I edited this while playing Mario Party 6 on my game cube. why? I dunno, but I needed to tell you all that. </p><p>Catch me on Tumblr at <a href="https://sraye96.tumblr.com/">SRaye96</a> or on twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/Raye96S">Raye96s</a></p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Catch me on Tumblr at <a href="https://sraye96.tumblr.com/">SRaye96</a> or on twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/Raye96S">Raye96s</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>